Tag Archives: Kuwaiti

Kuwait House of National Works

Today we’ve visited with my parents and dear (though slightly grumpy due to lack of sleep, darn that toddler) husband the Kuwait House of National Works, a museum dedicated to Iraqi invasion and subsequent liberation.
As heavily pregnant and with kids I’ve skipped certain displays with pictures of tortured children and people, but otherwise went through the whole exposition without an accident (or tear, though close! Hormones…)
Here are some photos to document our visit – it was very hard to capture anything though as they kept their lights off most of the time to create an atmosphere for us, and a Korean family who happened to tag along as well.





One of (among secret) documents issued to eradicate Kuwaiti national identity and anything of (Kuwaiti) sort




Yes, this is the real deal; head of a statue imported from Iraq after Saddam’s fall

And this is for some sceptics a picture of one of Kuwait’s churches.

How’s Your Ramadan Going?

With the month of fasting being in the middle, most of you who fast surely know their thing already and can get along pretty well – even I got used to the Kuwaiti tempo rather quickly again and managed to even add 30 – 60 minutes of cardio exercise into the daily routine without collapsing out of exhaustion, thirst or hunger – lets hope I can keep it even after Ramadan passes and my body won’t go all nuts from the change of regime once again.
I’ve found out, that I’ve got “Kuwaitized” a little – can’t talk for the behaviour (that’s a question you’ve got to aim at my husband, he’d know better) – but I remember clearly that when we moved to Kuwait last year, I’ve been offered at one of the dinners a special local sweets: Rahash (رهش كويتي). It’s basically a sesame seeds paste with sugar and God knows what else, it’s incredibly sweet and of course it tastes completely awful to an European tongue (unused to an Arab cuisine). I’ve tried it that evening and I’ve hated the guts of it. It doesn’t look particularly tasty neither to be completely honest; something between sand mud and a wet brick. But…


A year after and I can’t get enough. I’ve smuggled a small box of rahash into my room and every evening I eat it with bread (yes, that’s the best) as my suhoor, together with Pu-erh tea, because my Ramadan cholesterol level is probably around the high risk level – as for many other Muslims.
And here I thought I won’t cope. Hah. As if. Next year I’m gonna catch myself wearing a centimeter thick layer of make-up, I bet you.

In 5 Years?

Maybe… hehe. When I showed this creation from wool roving to my dearest husband, he, very mysteriously, didn’t seem to share my sense of humour – be it the grey strikes in his caricature hair or the fact I woke him up from an afternoon nap, he really didn’t like it so much as I did.
Well, maybe when he will wake up from his pink dreams, he might change his mind?
I don’t get so quickly along with the felting as I hoped to do, but in the end, the purpose was to keep busy while being – at least seemingly – productive, and since I majorly suck in cooking and cleaning and all the housewifing, why not to craft and pretend to be important, right?

Kuwaiti

The days (of our lives) in this place are counting down pretty quickly, hubby – who doesn’t appriciate my great sense of humour, I have to rub it again – is going to leave to London on Monday, to pick up our visas for Kuwait and than in just few days *pheeew*, we are somewhere else again.
The fact it got so close makes my sleep a bit rocky and I have nervous dreams about it, I mean, would you blame me? Moving when I was 22 was great adventure, moving three years later (and obviously 10 mental years since that point… wrinkles, wrinkles, where art thou?) is just a great deal of stress.
Maybe because we got a lot of stuff and we can’t really make it with one suitcase of 20 kg, maybe because I’m transforming into an old cat and hate changing places and paces and all that stuff around, maybe simply because moving to Britain was “eventually close” from Czech, but moving to Kuwait is “eventually far” geographically as ideologically.
I know, I should not have such a problem there being a Muslimah, but still. Weird place. Way too many unknowns.
Abood doesn’t really make it easier for me (or my thoughts), because he already assembled many boxes and started to pack his part of chaos in here, which really, really, reaaaally makes me tick like a timed bomb (or makes me wanna run around screaming and waving my limbs in the air as the flags… K’Naan, I blame you for this sentence). I am pretty known for packing earliest in about 24 hours before the plane leaves. makes me way more relaxed, and in the end more focused on what I should pack and what not.
Well, let’s hope this “move” will go well.

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