Suddenly everyone’s using Twitter. Lara Dunston (@laradunston) went to tweet-ups in Dubai and Beirut to find out why
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At a tweet-up in Dubai, a woman whose Twitter handle is @Kangayayaroo glances around the table. “This is an atypical expat experience,” she confides. “Because of Twitter we’re friends with people we wouldn’t normally meet socially.” Joining us are “tweeps”, as Twitter users call themselves, from all over the region and beyond.
The Middle East is racking up Twitter users at a rapid pace. A survey by Spot On PR found that users in the MENA region quadrupled in the second quarter of 2009, with 14,000 accounts by September. Dubai’s Sheikh Mohammed (@HHShkMohd) and Jordan’s Queen Rania (@QueenRania) are among them.
When you join Twitter, you can locate people whose tweets you want to follow and join them in an open conversation. You can also start new conversations, have private conversations, or simply share your thoughts and experiences to see what reaction you get from your followers. Barack Obama (@barackobama) tweets regularly, as does Britney Spears (@britneyspears), Lance Armstrong (@lancearmstrong) and Oprah Winfrey (@oprah). But you’ll need to be concise – tweets are limited to 140 characters.
Increasingly, these virtual interactions are turning into real-life friendships. “I’ve made lots of friends,” says Khalid, who recently moved from Dubai to Damascus. “It’s exciting because it feels like we’re part of a wider movement.” In Beirut, I meet Darine (@sdarine), who talks about the “simplicity and innocence” of the website. “In our twi-munity it’s so easy to reach out to anybody for help or advice. They always welcome and respect you,” she says.
Over the past few months, several tweet-ups and “Twestivals” have taken place across the region. In Dubai, the tweeting community’s self-confessed nerds – and there are many of them – get together at Geekfests to talk tech. Twestivals happen on a larger scale – they’re volunteer-led fundraising events coordinated over the website. A recent Twestival in Amman had 100 attendees, four guest speakers, and raised more than US$7,000 for charity. Twitter has been criticised for being cold, trivial and self-indulgent, but lots of good old-fashioned face-to-face conversation is happening as a result of it.
“When tweeps meet, you feel as if you’ve known them for a long time, even if you’ve never met face to face,” says Beirut doctor Georges Azzi (@azzi). At first, he says, it’s normal to associate people with their online persona, but then the conversation becomes natural. “We just can’t stop talking,” adds Darine. “We discuss personal and controversial issues, and have inside jokes. We know more about each other’s day-to-day lives than our families do!” Follow Jazeera Airways on Twitter at twitter.com/jazeera_airways
Until last summer, Kuwait-born comedian Mo Amer had no nationality. He talks to Matthew Lee about life as a refugee, returning to his childhood home and how, after 19 years, he finally became an American
Last year, Mo Amer returned to Kuwait for the first time
since 1990. He was born and raised in a Palestinian family in Al-Ahmadi and attended a British school. His father worked for the Kuwait Oil Company and helped build one of the country’s first radio stations. After the Iraqi invasion, Mo fled to America with his mother and sister, and his family was torn apart.
“It was so surreal being in Kuwait again,” he says. “I recognised so much. I met my aunt, the only member of my family who still lives there, and we went to the street where we used to live. It was too emotional for her to go near our old house though. Later that day, I bawled like a baby. It was overwhelming, man.”
Amer spent much of last year cracking jokes on the Allah Made Me Funny tour. The show is an attempt by American Muslims to counter the negative stereotyping they encountered after 9/11. Amer, who joined the troupe in 2006, says its theme is reclaiming Muslim expression: “It’s about sharing our experiences and not having other people do it for us.” The concert film of the tour is now available on DVD.
Amer began his comedy journey when he saw Bill Cosby performing at a rodeo near his hometown of Houston, Texas. “There were about 60,000 people there, all dying laughing,” Amer recalls. “And I thought, ‘That’s what I want to do.’ ” After the death of his father, who’d only been able to join his family two years after they left Kuwait, Amer’s grades at school suffered. He passed classes by performing Shakespeare for his classmates, turning verses from Hamlet into comedy skits. He entered a comedy showcase in Houston at 17 and was soon touring the US and playing to American troops stationed in the Middle East.
Inspired by his experiences as a refugee, Amer started Legally Homeless, a comedy project intended to draw attention to statelessness – people who aren’t citizens of any country and can’t obtain a passport. He told audiences about the dehumanising official language used to describe refugees – “resident aliens” aiming to be “naturalised”. And he joked about the difficulties facing Arabs in post-9/11 America, where even calling for his nephew Osama in a supermarket put him in danger (“Do you know how many people at Wal-Mart hunt?”).
Six months ago Amer’s life changed. After 19 years of waiting, he became an American. But how does he reconcile his new identity as a US citizen with his increasing sense of what it means to be an Arab and a Muslim? And how does he find humour in stories that aren’t, on the surface at least, funny?
“This is where I’m at right now, at a standstill,” he replies. “I’m thinking about how I can share these moments and how I can find the humour in them. Many people have been through the same things as me and it’s a subject that’s not really being talked about.” When he performed for US troops in Kuwait last year, he recounted stories about his childhood in Al-Ahmadi, his escape through Iraq and his life as a stateless person. Being in Kuwait had brought it all flooding back to him.
“I remember Kuwait being a wonderful place,” he concludes. “It was the only time in our lives we felt normal. We had family around all the time, but now we’re spread out, living all over the world. After the Iraqi invasion, well, my family never really recovered, to be honest. Unfortunately, we never recovered.” www.allahmademefunny.com
Are you ready to rock? Check out three Kuwaiti metal bands currently making a big noise
Words_Lara Dunston
Photography_Terence Carter
Nocturna, Benevolent and Depth strike rock-star poses against the graffiti-covered walls of the Living Room Lounge, a low-key beachside café in Salmiya. But whatever grimaces they pull or stares they fix, the musicians in Kuwait’s three biggest metal bands appear geeky and well-mannered, and not even remotely menacing.
Sarj, who works as a TV sound engineer, records as one-man band Nocturna in his spare time. “I grew up on metal,” says the Kuwaiti-born Indian, who also produces tracks for many of Kuwait’s other metal bands. “My uncle had an influence on my tastes. He was into classic metal like Iron Maiden, but also listened to Michael Jackson.”
Gaser, the lead singer of metallers Depth, also admired Jackson. The swooping metal guitar of Eddie Van Halen on the late star’s Beat It inspired him to play guitar. “It was music I could connect with,” says the Kuwaiti-Egyptian journalism student, known on the scene as Chaos. “I was rebelling against everything being shoved down my throat.
I went from just being angry to being passionate about music, and then I played metal for love.”
Kuwait national Adel, a skinny communications graduate who studied in Australia, plays guitar for Benevolent. “I was also angry when I was young and metal spoke to me,” he says. “Then, around 10 years ago, I started to appreciate the technical side of the music.”
Commercial success seems a distant dream for these hard-working musicians. It’s tough breaking into a market dominated by hip-hop, R&B and traditional Gulf Arabic music, while metal concerts are difficult to set up.
“Some venue organisers will say it’s OK to have two musicians onstage, but no more than that,” says Fadi, Benevolent’s vocalist and editor of Rockability, the Gulf’s first metal magazine.
His brother Hadi, the band’s other guitarist, adds: “Sometimes the audience has to sit down to watch the performance. They’re not allowed to stand up and dance.” On occasion, the bands have been prohibited from using the word “metal” to advertise their music.
People all over the world have misconceptions about metal. Just because the music sounds heavy and foreboding and the lyrics are often cynical and downbeat, it doesn’t mean its proponents have crossed over to the dark side. Nocturna, Depth and Benevolent say that, compared to popular rap and hip-hop, and Hollywood movies full of gratuitious violence, their music isn’t particularly offensive.
In this age of MySpace and MP3s, it’s easier for the guys to get their music out there than it used to be. All three bands boast strong followings on the internet, but yearn for the opportunity to play live more often.
“In Kuwait, we record a song, put it on the internet and hope someone listens,” explains Hadi. “But you can’t be satisfied because part of the experience of being a rock musician is playing live. I enjoy recording but love playing live. For me, that’s what it’s all about.”
Despite the lack of concerts, his brother sees a bright future for the scene. “I think things are changing for the better,” Fadi says.
Adel is also optimistic. “We need to take baby steps, but we feel encouraged that the situation is improving.”
Lara Dunston meets three architects set on making Kuwait a better country to live in Photography_Terence Carter
Barrak Al-Babtain, Jasem Nadoum and Amenah Benjasem are using their blog, re:Kuwait (rekuwait.wordpress.com), to start a public dialogue about urban planning in their country and the direction development should take in the future.
The three became friends while studying architecture at the American University of Sharjah (AUS), they tell me at a large table in the sleek, minimalist conference room of Al-Babtain Design. “AUS was the only choice in the Gulf at the time if you wanted to study architecture,” Barrak explains. “Everyone who studied there went on to do amazing things.”
The trio look set to follow in their footsteps. Al-Babtain Design, Barrak’s company, specialises in contemporary residential architecture. Jasem works as a senior architect at a project development company in Kuwait City and Amenah, who interned with renowned architect Zaha Hadid in London, is working in urban planning in Kuwait while preparing to study in New York.
The website is their collective project and the aim is to encourage a wider discussion about Kuwait’s rapid urban development – what has been done well and what should have been done better. These conversations have happened for years in the offices of architects and urban planners; the trio want to take them into the homes of ordinary Kuwaitis.
“Everybody accepts that life in Kuwait is changing,” Barrak tells us. “We don’t have a social life the way our grandparents did and people don’t understand why.” Jasem agrees: “People know their lives have changed but can’t explain it. We’re using the blog to create a public dialogue so we can come to terms with change.”
Applying the critical skills they developed at university, the three examine problems and attempt to find solutions. When the blog launched last May, Jasem clarified that their intention was to be constructive and not destructive. He wrote: “There is no shame in offering a critique or accepting one, yet in our conservative Arab culture it is often seen as a personal attack. To be critiqued is not an admission of weakness, but an opportunity to explore multiple viewpoints through collective analysis.”
Having set their stall, the trio have tackled Kuwait’s urban infrastructure. They’ve mooted the possibility of bicycle lanes, discussed potential routes for a Kuwait metro and offered suggestions to improve parks. They’d love to see more museums and public art installations. And they cite traditional Kuwaiti architecture – built to cope with the heat in an energy-efficient way – as the inspiration behind many of their eco-friendly ideas.
“You see,” Barrak explains, “development happened very quickly in the 1950s in Kuwait. We went from mud houses to the western model. Kuwaitis weren’t educated then. They had their hearts in the right places, but now is the time for us…” As Barrak hesitates, Amenah leaps in. “To fix things,” she says.
There are few sporting events as punishing as an Ironman Triathlon, but three Kuwaitis survive to tell the tale Words_James Calderwood
In the months leading up to the Ironman Triathlon in Belgium, three 27-year-old Kuwaitis waved goodbye to their social lives and prepared for the physical and mental anguish of the seven-hour race. It’s said to be one of the toughest events in the world, in which the Kuwaitis – the only Arabs to compete – faced a 1.9km swim in a bitterly cold lake, a chafing 90km cycle race and a half-marathon (21km) of pain on the cobbled streets of Antwerp.
As they fuelled themselves at a pasta party the night before the race, their bodies felt primed, but some lingering doubts remained. They had trained for countless hours in Kuwait’s parched streets and manicured pools, but now they were about to face the Belgian weather and it wasn’t looking good. The forecast was for wind and rain.
Some athletes compete for money and others for glory, but these former schoolmates have another goal: to inspire Kuwaitis to take up sport. It’s more an obsession than a hobby for the trio, who started Q8 Extreme Team, a sports events management company, to get people involved. The triathlon was a chance to lead by example.
“We were freezing, and we couldn’t believe it, some people weren’t even wearing wetsuits,” says Ahmed Majed, who is known to his friends as Troublemaker for constantly persuading them to sign up for punishing events. “For me, the swim was a disaster. It was like being in a washing machine. It was dark and you couldn’t see anything at all.” After a few hundred metres, surrounded by flailing arms and legs, Majed swallowed a few mouthfuls of water. As his stomach wrenched, he stopped. “I’d decided to quit at that stage,” he explains. But as thoughts of his family, friends and sponsors flooded into his head, he steadied himself and set off again.
Ahmed Al-Huzaimi was the first to reach the bikes. He says: “It was pouring with rain, but the refreshing air started to feel really good. It was the best feeling ever. I was amazed at how good some of the other competitors were. A 60-year-old woman passed me on her bike. I was very impressed.”
As if the harsh European weather wasn’t enough, the third athlete, Abdulatif AlOthman, also had to overcome his asthma. He left inhalers at each stage of the race, but hardly needed them in the end. The cool wind and a crowd that chanted “Go Kuwait! Go Kuwait!” after seeing the country’s name on the back of the friends’ shirts inspired the trio to their best-ever times.
“During the event, you wonder why you’re doing it, and you say you’ll never do it again, but afterwards that all disappears and you just feel a sense of achievement,” says Ahmed Majed.
James Calderwood is a foreign correspondent for The National newspaper
The Kuwaiti artist talks to J Magazine about her work
One of Kuwait’s leading artists, Ghadah Alkandari is a prolific painter and sketcher, who exhibits her work in gallery exhibitions both at home and abroad.
01/ What inspired you to become an artist?
According to my mother, I picked up a pencil and was drawing non-stop from the age of two. I exhibited for the first time in 1994 here in Kuwait, and I’ve been doing it ever since.
02/ What is the main inspiration for your work?
I think I’m very emotionally driven, and it shows in my art. But I’m also inspired by other people’s work, whether it’s art, writing or just someone who has created something beautiful.
03/ What are the recurring themes in your work?
My exhibitions are becoming more and more thematic the older I get. A lot of them are inspired by a spark, an emotion, an incident, which takes on a different life form once I get more into it and becomes more thoughtful, rather than visceral.
04/ How would you describe the art scene in Kuwait?
It’s pretty stagnant. We have talent in Kuwait; we just don’t have official backing. A lot of individuals have great talent. Every now and then there will be an exhibition, but in general it’s all underground, all very personal.
05/ Do you have any projects for the future?
I achieved what I wanted to achieve 10 years ago, but I find myself still thinking about the future. Eventually, I’d like to publish a children’s book, or perhaps my sketchbooks, but there are things I have to do before reaching that point. Right now, my immediate goal is to exhibit in Cairo or in Beirut, and take it from there. www.ghadahalkandari.com
Lost in his own city once too often, Bahi Ghubril decided it was time to create the first-ever street map of the sprawling Lebanese capital Words_Matthew Lee Photography_Laurie Fletcher
Getting lost in Beirut is easy to do. Bahi Ghubril was born and raised in the city and he used to get lost too. But that was before he created Lebanon’s first-ever street map, Zawarib Beirut.
“I’d become so frustrated getting lost, getting stuck in traffic, having to call people for directions,” Ghubril tells J Magazine when we meet in his apartment in London’s Covent Garden. “I wanted to know how the city works so I started sketching on a piece of paper where all the roads link to each other, how the city works diagrammatically.”
With a few parts of a giant jigsaw puzzle pieced together, Ghubril found he was hooked. He became a man on a mission, walking the city’s side streets and alleyways making sketches, and later commissioning a geographic information system (GIS) company to provide satellite images.
He spoke to anybody who could provide useful information: the traffic police, the taxation authorities, the mayor’s office and the department of transport. “It was difficult convincing people I was making a map. Old women kept asking for mail and security guards were very concerned as to what I was up to,” he says.
It takes more than just an inquisitive mind to make a map from scratch, and Ghubril is the first to admit to his geeky tendencies. “I like categorising things. I like family trees and making friendship trees. I love mental maps and topographical images of connections of things. And I love Beirut and learning about the city,” he says.
Before embarking on the project, Ghubril had no experience of working with maps. He studied engineering at Oxford University, worked in finance in London, and became a producer of theatre, film and music. He went to acting school and appeared in films and plays, and now divides his time between Beirut and London, working in finance and theatre, and promoting Zawarib.
After receiving the satellite images, he single-handedly mapped the entire city, inputting the names of major landmarks such as churches, mosques, hotels and restaurants. A cartography company handled the marked-up documents and graphic design students at the Lebanese American University worked on cover images. All that work, it turned out, was the easy part.
Younger people, especially those who had lived abroad, were enthusiastic about their city finally getting its own street map. But many others were resistant to progress. “Getting people to understand why they would want a street map was tough,” says Ghubril. “Promoting something that isn’t available in any form is very different to promoting a new brand of soap. Many people had no idea what street maps were or how they worked.”
Ghubril has been working on a documentary about his Zawarib project and there’s a trailer on YouTube. In it he’s seen speaking to people who’ve lived on the same street for years without ever finding out its name. “At the beginning, people said ‘it’s for tourists’, but it’s not only for tourists,” he explains. “I’m often on the street in Beirut and asked for directions by taxi drivers.”
His message seems to be spreading. Since it was first published in 2005, Zawarib has consistently been one of the top 10 books in Lebanon. It’s sold throughout the Arab world and Europe, the website has received thousands of hits, and Ghubril is starting to think about a second edition.
“I’m very proud of what I’ve done,” he smiles. “I’ve literally put Beirut on the map.” www.zawaribbeirut.com
In Kuwait’s May 2009 elections, women were elected to parliament for the first time in the country’s history. Lara Dunston and Terence Carter speak to the four female MPs about their first six months in office Photography by Terence Carter
Dr Massouma Al-Mubarak
With her twinkling eyes, sunny demeanour and hibiscus-patterned suit jacket, Dr Massouma Al-Mubarak looks like a doting granny. So it’s no surprise when she announces proudly: “I have four children and I’m a grandma.”
A former professor of political science at Kuwait University, Dr Massouma is the longest-serving woman in Kuwaiti politics, appointed to the Cabinet in 2005. This year, she secured the highest number of votes in District 1, which she credits to her vision for the role of women in the country. “I want equality,” she says, and she’s well aware of the size of this challenge.
As head of the parliamentary women’s committee, Dr Massouma is responsible for guiding the female MPs’ agenda. Their top priority is establishing comprehensive legislation regarding all social and civil rights for women in Kuwait, and to amend all laws discriminating against women, especially those who are married to non-Kuwaitis and bedoun, who have no nationality.
“In the 1980s, women in Kuwait who asked for rights were attacked by fanatics. They accused us of not being Muslims, of being too Western. They questioned my ability to teach my students and questioned our morals. As a woman, wife and mother, these things hurt,” she admits. “But there’s been great transformation in Kuwait – something we can measure by numbers, enthusiasm and verbal support, by people’s willingness to support us voluntarily in the campaign, and by the number of women participating.”
Women are not Dr Massouma’s only priority, though. “Kuwait was a pioneer of democracy in the region,” she says, “but we fell behind economically because we didn’t cooperate, we couldn’t agree on anything, and so we had stagnation. We need to keep in mind the need for political stability.”
A side effect of Dr Massouma’s higher profile is that she’s now a role model for young women. “Many tell me they want to go into politics and ask for my recipe for success. I say, first, be honest to yourself and with others; and second, develop a field of specialty and get educated. If you believe in it, you will do it!”
Dr Salwa Al-Jassar
Dr Salwa Al-Jassar, a mathematics professor and former head of the Centre for Empowering Women, used to think that women would never serve as parliamentarians in Kuwait. Now, she is beside herself with joy – a delight openly expressed at the inaugural session of parliament in May when Dr Salwa threw her head back and laughed elatedly. It was a moment captured on camera for the world to share.
“I’m loving it!” she declares. “The first 90 days in office were like 25 years in my former career. It can be frustrating because as women we are under the microscope, but I’m so happy. I have a plan, a vision. This is the right place for me.”
“As women in Middle East society it has always been hard for us,” explains Dr Salwa, “but when I ran for office I didn’t have any trouble. I had the support of so many women, even old women. My mum is 75 and she was a big supporter. She said: ‘Go for it. But get permission from your husband first.’” Her husband didn’t merely give his wife approval – he became the chairman of her campaign.
Dr Salwa believes that being friends with her female colleagues is vital to their success. “It makes us more effective,” she says. “We have our differences, but we can still work together. We’re not a brand or a label. We each have our own opinions and priorities. But a united front certainly makes us stronger.”
Dr Rola Dashti
Dr Rola Dashti sits at her desk on her mobile phone, deep in conversation. When she finishes her call she looks up, sighs, smiles and sinks heavily into the leather sofa. She appears occupied, distracted and, with dark circles under her eyes, a little tired. By her own admission, the economist, academic and activist is a workaholic.
“I’ve always been a busy person. I like to get things done,” says the 45-year-old, who has a PhD in Population Economics from Johns Hopkins University in the USA, and is one of Kuwait’s most prominent social activists, working with NGOs to advance democracy in the region. “Here it’s difficult because there are always disruptions. We don’t own our time. We can’t control our agenda. It’s a different experience, being in office. It’s hectic. It’s demanding. But it’s a duty.”
“Engaging women in politics and strengthening and deepening the role of Kuwaiti women is a priority for me,” she declares. “Sadly, there are people who think politics is not for women. So we need to show we are capable – and open the door for other women. Our every move is being watched, any fumble recorded and discussed.”
Dr Rola appears a bit frustrated by her first months in office. “For the past few months, we’ve been like fire fighters,” she divulges. “We’re continually putting out fires that different interest groups have been creating by politicising our every action.”
She argues that the most pressing items on her agenda are economic and educational reform. “They must go hand in hand,” she explains. “We need to create and implement a five-year plan and we can’t afford to waste any more time.”
“I think we’re all role models,” Dr Rola says of the foursome, “to women across the Middle East and especially in the Gulf because we are the result of free elections. Now my dream is to strengthen the role of women in society.”
Dr Aseel Al-Awadhi
The youngest of the four female MPs, Dr Aseel AlAwadhi used social media such as Facebook to get her message out, and received more support from young voters than any candidate.
The former philosophy professor’s passion for social justice, democracy and gender equality motivated her to enter politics. While she says she’s happy “the second half of society is represented after more than 40 years of male democracy”, gender issues are not her top priority. “Kuwaitis need better education,” she says, “so we need to work on legislation to guarantee that and change those that hinder such achievements, such as the segregation law for higher education.” She also calls for affordable housing and more environmental awareness.
Dr Aseel feels that Kuwaitis are becoming more politically astute. “People have started to care about end results, not verbal slogans,” she explains. “People started to rearrange their priorities and better understand what they need from an MP.
“The greatest challenge of the job is having so many responsibilities and not much time to satisfy them all,” she states. “The first two weeks were hard and messy. It’s difficult to juggle public and private lives. My personal space has become very limited, if not vanished.”
Young women wanting to follow in her footsteps should, she says, “believe and trust in themselves – always have hope, work hard to achieve their goals, and not allow anyone to put them down. They must accept failure as a step towards success. Nothing is impossible if there is a determination to achieve it.”
What’s happening?
Until last summer, Kuwait-born comedian Mo Amer had no nationality. He talks to Matthew Lee about life as a refugee, returning to his childhood home and how, after 19 years, he finally became an American
Amer began his comedy journey when he saw Bill Cosby performing at a rodeo near his hometown of Houston, Texas. “There were about 60,000 people there, all dying laughing,” Amer recalls. “And I thought, ‘That’s what I want to do.’ ” After the death of his father, who’d only been able to join his family two years after they left Kuwait, Amer’s grades at school suffered. He passed classes by performing Shakespeare for his classmates, turning verses from Hamlet into comedy skits. He entered a comedy showcase in Houston at 17 and was soon touring the US and playing to American troops stationed in the Middle East. 
Are you ready to rock? Check out three Kuwaiti metal bands currently making a big noise
People all over the world have misconceptions about metal. Just because the music sounds heavy and foreboding and the lyrics are often cynical and downbeat, it doesn’t mean its proponents have crossed over to the dark side. Nocturna, Depth and Benevolent say that, compared to popular rap and hip-hop, and Hollywood movies full of gratuitious violence, their music isn’t particularly offensive.
Lara Dunston meets three architects set on making Kuwait a better country to live in Photography_Terence Carter
There are few sporting events as punishing as an Ironman Triathlon, but three Kuwaitis survive to tell the tale Words_James Calderwood
“We were freezing, and we couldn’t believe it, some people weren’t even wearing wetsuits,” says Ahmed Majed, who is known to his friends as Troublemaker for constantly persuading them to sign up for punishing events. “For me, the swim was a disaster. It was like being in a washing machine. It was dark and you couldn’t see anything at all.” After a few hundred metres, surrounded by flailing arms and legs, Majed swallowed a few mouthfuls of water. As his stomach wrenched, he stopped. “I’d decided to quit at that stage,” he explains. But as thoughts of his family, friends and sponsors flooded into his head, he steadied himself and set off again.
As if the harsh European weather wasn’t enough, the third athlete, Abdulatif AlOthman, also had to overcome his asthma. He left inhalers at each stage of the race, but hardly needed them in the end. The cool wind and a crowd that chanted “Go Kuwait! Go Kuwait!” after seeing the country’s name on the back of the friends’ shirts inspired the trio to their best-ever times. 
One of Kuwait’s leading artists, Ghadah Alkandari is a prolific painter and sketcher, who exhibits her work in gallery exhibitions both at home and abroad. 
“I’ve put Beirut on the map”
He spoke to anybody who could provide useful information: the traffic police, the taxation authorities, the mayor’s office and the department of transport. “It was difficult convincing people I was making a map. Old women kept asking for mail and security guards were very concerned as to what I was up to,” he says. 
Dr Massouma Al-Mubarak
Dr Salwa Al-Jassar, a mathematics professor and former head of the Centre for Empowering Women, used to think that women would never serve as parliamentarians in Kuwait. Now, she is beside herself with joy – a delight openly expressed at the inaugural session of parliament in May when Dr Salwa threw her head back and laughed elatedly. It was a moment captured on camera for the world to share.
Dr Rola Dashti
The youngest of the four female MPs, Dr Aseel AlAwadhi used social media such as Facebook to get her message out, and received more support from young voters than any candidate.