It’s an object that’s out of place. 

My beautiful, Arab coffee ‘thermos’. It has an elegant gold spout and silver body etched with leaves. It looks like it belongs to a Saudi prince. But it’s actually just plastic and sold in cheap homeware shops. Something like it is used in most Arab lounge rooms throughout the Middle East during formal occasions such as Eid (religious holidays), funerals or weddings. Guests are honoured on arrival with a shot-sized serving of bitter, black coffee, usually cardamon-flavoured. 

But here it sits. This gold thermos looking out of place on my wobbly, dusty, laminated table under a noisy fan. Elegantly sitting between scattered lab request forms, hand gel, paediatric growth charts and my stethoscope. Ready to serve patients who come to see me at the clinic. 

I am playing offense. It is an experiment.

It was a f-a-n-c-y bathroom. 

It was very impressive, given the family was struggling financially. It was at the front of the house and particularly designed to impress guests. Everything was ‘gold’. The basin looked like marble. The lighting was soft and flattering. But the toilet didn’t flush and the taps didn’t work. When this experience was recounted to me I chuckled with understanding. All the money had been spent on the fittings and shiny things, and there was none left to connect a water supply and make the bathroom functional. Strange, yet not at all strange. 

In Arab culture, it has to look good. Appearance is everything and brings honour. Even in a refugee’s home, where they can only afford stale bread, I no longer blink an eyelid when I see something fancy in the room where guests are hosted. Perhaps some ruffled, satin curtains? Or a gold (plastic) coffee pot? I am slowly growing to understand this Eastern worldview, reflected in so many Bible passages which describe wealth, jewels, beauty and abundance to communicate significance and honour.