Khobar

I took a short trip to the Eastern Province of Saudi--Khobar, Dammam, and Dharan and it was such a nice change. The sea alone is lovely and the humid air felt nice after months of dry Riyadh heat. We stayed in a nice, modern hotel in Khobar called Park Inn, which was a five minute drive away from the corniche.

The people there seemed to be more open and laid back. The men didn't always have a shmagh on their heads (the red checkered scarf), which is a big faux pas in Riyadh. It is seen as immodest in Riyadh (from what I'm told it's the equivalent of a Saudi woman not covering her face). I saw that piece of cloth as a metaphor for the general attitude of the men there (it was a school vacation, so there were many Riyadh residents in Khobar). The Riyadh boys wore theirs high on their heads, in a proud, uptight manner. The pattern of the scarf was intricate and busy. The Eastern boys wore it loosely around their shoulders, which symbolized their laid back, relaxed dispositions. The cloth was usually all white, the pattern modern and minimal.

A school bus filled with high school girls and a black sports car drifting between cars/ switching lanes in hopes of catching their attention. Finally, he sticks his hand out of the window with a large paper with his number written across it. Is that paper always stored in the glove compartment, waiting on stand by for a bus full of tweens or an SUV filled with hopeless romantics or something of the like? They giggled and stared. I just shook my head, I guess. This is what they do. We drove past palaces and a few girls called out, this one's mine! We took them bowling; energy drinks for the young and restless (sorry, I had to). Tomorrow is a new day.

Desert dryness and clouds of dust

The air is becoming drier and the dust grows thicker and I haven't been feeling like myself these days. Spring is a time of renewal and fresh blooms, but being in Riyadh has dried up the artistic spirit that was once thriving inside of me. There are no plays to attend, no poetry slams that push boundaries and no art galleries that publish human bodies and faces that fill something inside of you. I miss looking at photographs, I miss taking pictures of people and places without causing someone great offense or without someone thinking I have motives besides the sheer beauty of it all. I miss walking in the street with my camera around my neck. I miss walking. I miss fashion magazines and editorials without black leggings edited into the picture. I miss male models who wear cardigans and carry satchels while standing confidently in the shot, their arms gently wrapped around a woman who isn't very pretty but whose eyebrows and hair is something you can't stop gazing at. I miss minimalism. Clean cut lines and white sheets and flowers everywhere. No rhinestones, no chandeliers, and certainly no gold. I miss the romanticism of the spring, the ruffles in shirts, the grazing skirts, the mild sun hiding behind the clouds. In Riyadh there are no clouds, just sun and dust and a dryness that leaves you thirsty for more.

Personal Space

If you take any anthropology class one of the first things they'll teach you is how much Americans enjoy personal space and how little Arabs are aware of such a concept. If you take a train in Chicago it is almost guaranteed that each person with take up at least two seats (one for them and one for their bags). In America it is general knowledge that there needs to be a safe distance between two people engaged in a conversation. If you get in someone's face you are viewed as a big, creepy weirdo. In the Arab world, said distance is unheard of. Not only will they stand and talk to you at an uncomfortable nearness, but they will unabashedly ask you why you haven't plucked your eyebrows that day and freely suggest some home made cream that would remedy your enlarged pores. Do you see my point? As an Arab-American I've grudgingly succumbed to the multiple cheek kisses but after moving to Saudi, I've recently realized how much I refuse to relinquish my cherished personal space.

Caged Birds

Today I taught Maya Angelou's poem, "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings," which moved a lot of my seniors. The poem is literally about two birds who lead incredibly different lives. One bird soars the sky from morning until dusk, dipping in and sipping from natural springs. The other bird sits in a cage filled with rage with tied legs and wings that are clipped. While the first bird dreams about fresh air and big, fat worms, the other bird sings and dreams about freedom. The imprisoned bird longs for the unknown, a life beyond the cage.

While my students sympathized with the caged bird, few could imagine injustice. Metaphorically speaking---they could not fully grasp that there are people in the world who do not "own the sky" as the free bird does. I don't blame them, I suppose. In their short lives my students have soared academically, they have dipped their feathers in oceans across the world and have tasted the most expensive worms this world has to offer. With that being said, they are still young birds, trapped in grand palaces, caged in privilege.

Today we got the day off from school because of a terrible sand storm that has made its way into Riyadh. Last Saturday we got the day off in honor of a kind and generous King. Next week I'm hoping for some heavy rain (fingers crossed!).

I spent my morning reading some much need Pablo Neruda while drinking coffee and nibbling on some biscuits. Sigh. Why did I want to work again? Anyway...Neruda, a Chilean poet, always wrote in green ink because he believed that it was a color of hope. Today I'm typing with shades of green because I'm filled with all sorts of hope these days.

we men,

touch the water,

struggling

and hoping,

we touch the sea,

hoping.

And the waves tell the firm coast,

"Everything will be fulfilled."

-excerpt from "Ode to Hope" by Pablo Neruda.

20-something

Someone once told me that if you want to survive the loneliness in Saudi, you need to make friends your own age. No matter how nice my in-laws are, I still yearned for the company of a 20 something-newly married-no string of kids behind him/her-Arab/Western couple. My Saudi neighbor is such a doll, but going shopping with her ultimately leads to the Baby Gap. Don't get me wrong, I love staring at baby clothes as much as the next lady, but my intrigue lasts for a maximum of ten minutes before I start eyeing Zara across the mall. When I go shopping with my 30 something sister-in-law, her kids have to throw a fit in the middle of H&M, which leaves me embarrassed and her on the verge of tears.

After I started working, I met a lot of wonderful ladies, but they were either:

a.) much older with kids in high school/ college OR

b.) pregnant or with kids under the age of 4

Recently, a newcomer joined our staff to my delight. She was just what I was searching for: 20 something, newly married (no kids), new to Riyadh, an Arab who studied in Canada with a husband with a strong penchant for modern furniture (JUST LIKE MY HUSBAND). She invited us over last night in an effort to get our husbands to become best friends, and I think it went well!

I truly believe God brings certain people in our lives at just the right time. Alhamdulilah.