Indian Iron Rice Bowls

Sitting within the inner circle is a big desk in a big office--more sought after than a beautiful young wife. In the office there is a telephone that rings through only when someone behind a bigger desk calls. The sultan rarely shows his face in public.

Sitting behind a smaller desk in a smaller office on the other side of the door is the sultan's secretary.

Secretaries for the managers round here are men, usually from India and although it may seem to the other employees that the secretary has a lowly, thankless job, one needs only to look at the history of eunuchs in this region to understand that the ball-less sometimes dickless guard to the royal chamber does more than dress the ruler, wax his helmet or polish his sword. He has the attention of the ruler and it is the eunuch's job to relay messages; when he is not bending over he is bending the bosses ear with rumours, whispers, innuendo, words that may be all smoke and no fire but words that could potentially cost someone his job.

The eunuch where I work is a Keralite Christian Indian whose name is either Thomas, Joseph or George. All of the eunuch's throughout the Arabian Gulf are either Thomas, Joseph or George.

T. J. or G. is a trusted man servant, a monkey in a suit who has a death grip on his iron rice bowl. T. J. G.'s rice bowl has been turned to iron because he is well trained and nobody under any circumstances can get past him to see the sultan's face.

I ride the bus to work with T.,J., or G. I sit behind him. I watch him as closely as he listens to others. He shuffles his morning paper faking disinterest, but I can see his ears fidget and bend like a cats tuning into new sounds. If a man on the bus has a complaint about his job, his benefits, salary, even about something non-job related, the eunuch tunes in and takes notes

You might not be paranoid when you first deplane on your first gig teaching in the Gulf, but if you aren't paranoid within the first year, you're either naive or thick