Pangolin and Qatar
Pangolin and Qatar
Spoiler alert: there is no pangolin in Qatar
You are about to read my first travel writing. Yes, most of what I’ve written has been inspired by my travels, but I never categorized them strictly as travel writings. Traveling often has an aura of transience and escapism. Yet, in most places I’ve visited, I’ve contemplated, however briefly, the possibility of living there. My room in Frankfurt faced a garden; there was a tree with birds nesting among its branches. The shabby student dorm in Jerusalem was barren, and one of the rooms functioned as a bomb shelter. But we managed to nurse some cucumbers to life, and I could walk to the Old City in 30 minutes. And so on and so forth.
But Qatar was different. When I had to spend a day there thanks to Qatar Airways, I knew, with more certainty than I had ever felt before, that this was not the place for me.
If there is a reverse of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), which is typical in Scandinavian countries during long winters, it would describe my experience in Qatar during the summer. At 40 degrees Celsius, the summer humidity turned the desert into a giant sauna. I could barely breathe after walking for 10 minutes and stopped wondering why there was no one on the street.
The pace of life was lovely—unless you were just stopping over and hoping to get your flight rescheduled. Doha airport allegedly serves more than 360,000 flights and 30 million passengers a year. But can it actually accommodate 30 million passengers a year? Not at the speed they’re working. After three hours of queuing with other bleary-eyed travelers, I was desperate to leave the airport for a complimentary hotel stay (the “airport hotel” was 30 minutes away by car). I spent another two hours in customs and overheard fellow Chinese tourists talking about having pangolins for dinner.
Of course, when I overheard conversations like this, I had to engage. And, of course, my day of rest and relaxation quickly morphed into a serendipitous day trip around the desert—after I had two hours of sleep in the “airport hotel.”
There were no pangolins in Qatar, for the avoidance of doubt. But there are plenty of pangolins as bushmeat in Angola - which was where my fellow travellers were heading to to scout potential investment opportunities in the automotive industry. Two of them invest for a sovereign wealth fund with an office in China, which explained their overall well-connectedness. Unlike me, they planned a stopover in Doha to see a friend based in Qatar - another Chinese businessman who has managed to stay here for more than 20 years.
Their Qatari friend was an archetypal Chinese businessman in his 50s—much like some of my uncles. He was hospitable and accommodating. Despite having no interest in Islamic art, he spent an afternoon sipping coffee at the museum café while the other lady and I explored every nook and cranny of the Museum of Islamic Art. The museum was emptier than expected, giving us plenty of time to study the incredible spread of Islamic art. The architecture deserves special mention. Perched along the pier, it overlooks the turquoise sea that sparkles under the sun. Both the exterior and interior are inspired by geometric patterns common in Islamic art—shapes interlacing, crisscrossing in beautiful symmetry.
[The Museum of Islamic Art, Architect I.M. Pei - all on film]
Our host waited for us by the panoramic windows. Besides his Chinese-style hospitality, the "uncle" was also stubborn—especially in his refusal to assimilate. After 20 years in Qatar, he spoke no Arabic and barely spoke English. But he had mastered the routes to the major malls and could rattle off the short history of various tourist attractions while driving us to the World Cup stadium. His favorite Middle Eastern restaurant—where we had lunch—had even learned how to say “lamb shank” in Chinese. Among the 3 million people in Qatar (of which only 10% are actual citizens), there are fewer than 2,000 Chinese people. Yet, the uncle has turned the shops he owns into the Chinatown of suburban Qatar, complete with luxury bags of questionable origin.
[the “Yang Pai”/lamb shank restaurant]
Aside from being fascinated by the Chinese diaspora in Qatar, the city was intriguing in many ways—how it has navigated modernity and Islamic traditions, built a modern, bustling airport, and staved off the resource curse with a competent and benevolent autocrat. It’s hard not to see the parallels between Qatar and Singapore, besides the incredible coverage of air-conditioning. Ironically, Singapore has a more pleasant climate, but Qatar boasts bigger malls—we saw a bouncy castle as big as a football field.
The ex-Emir of Qatar, Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani, took over the country in a bloodless coup. It was under his rein that Qatar had a similar rags-to-riches story - but unlike Singapore, he had vast reserves of natural gas to exploit, when his father had literally sat on them. He built up the sovereign wealth funds and invested billions of money overseas. His son also followed suit with the same liberalism, first by allowing foreign investors to hold not more than 49% of shares in Qatari companies, and increasing it to 100% in 2019. In the Qatar National Vision 2030, the ex-Emir laid down his blueprint for the “economic diversification”, “innovation and research”, “knowledge-based economy”. Buzzwords we are very used to seeing in Singapore too.
But something about Qatar felt too transactional. It could be the fact that 90% of the workforce is made up of expats. It could be the fact that the impressive World Cup stadium was built by 30,000 migrant workers laboring under such excruciating heat (and to date, there is no conclusive account of how many died building it). Qataris have access to a generous welfare system—offering subsidies and employment opportunities. The Chinese uncle explained that most Qataris are almost guaranteed free university education and government jobs. While Singapore tries to sell its version of the Singapore Dream, giving out citizenships to those who contribute and assimilate, Qatari citizenship is notoriously difficult to obtain. Naturalization might be available to those who have lived in Qatar for 25 years. Even then, those who are naturalised citizens enjoy fewer rights than native Qataris.
[the World Cup stadium, built using shipping containers - captured on film]
After a day out, we didn’t want to trouble our host and made our own dinner plans. I invited the others to my non-airport airport hotel. After seeing the Chinese uncle’s warehouse in suburban Doha, it made sense why the hotel felt like most hotels in China— down to the interior design and the brass nameplate.
But what truly amazed me was seeing a nightclub on the ground floor. Workers from the area flooded the hotel for the club and hotel bar. Bouncers reminded me not to take photos. The women were in short dresses and high heels—an unusual sight after a day of seeing women in hijabs. Most surprising of all, there was alcohol on the menu, available to non-Muslims only.
On my way out, I moved past throngs of workers enjoying their day off in the sultry evening, before walking into another mall to get to our car. The mall was frequented by hijab-donning women. Beautifully made-up, walking down the Sephora aisles in big groups, all carrying branded bags.
A poem by Wang Wei, one of the greatest poets of the Tang Dynasty, came to mind. Here is an excerpt:
城中相识尽繁华，日夜经过赵李家。
谁怜越女颜如玉，贫贱江头自浣纱。
With the less-than-competent assistance of ChatGPT, I’ve tried to do justice to the poem:
Those you’ve met in the city are well-acquainted with prosperity, days and nights passing through the House of Lis.
Who pities Xi Shi, whose face is like jade? Living in poverty, washing silk by the riverbank.
Wang Wei was not talking about Xi Shi per se, but about the sheer fortuity of being born into different circumstances. Somehow, in Qatar, all these strata of society converged.
