Bahrain

Today is hot and dusty.  The air is thick with dust and it covers everything like a blanket.  My car is covered with it and the heat and the dust make it difficult to breathe.  The day has just begun and the sun has only been up for a few hours but it is already approaching 100 degrees.  I am heading to Bahrain.

Bahrain is a tiny island just east of Saudi Arabia.  It is its own Kingdom, ruled by a Sunni Muslim King but inhabited in the majority by Shia Muslims.  This fact has been a source of much civil unrest over the past several months.  Riots, murders, unfounded arrests and death have all been the result of the people saying they no longer want the minority in power.  Today I learn that several people involved in an uprising about 2 months ago have been sentenced to life in prison.  I am uncertain if this includes the doctors and nurses that cared for the wounded Shia in a local hospital.

A large group of us are traveling to Bahrain today. All women – since women cannot drive they are the only ones allowed to take the shuttle.  I don’t really know anyone and I am going alone for the first time.  While I wait for the shuttle to pick us up I listen to everyone chat about their plans for the day.  Many, like me, are going to a hair salon.  There are a couple of American women on camp that do hair out of their house but both of them happen to be out this particular week on leave.  There are certainly hair salons in Khobar but the real difficulty is finding someone that speaks English well enough to trust with your hair!  In Bahrain the chance of finding someone American or English goes up exponentially and I am going to see a woman that comes highly recommended.

The drive out of Khobar is shocking as usual.  Since it is the weekend the roads are crowded with cars and people are driving with the usual madness.  The part of town that leads to the causeway is filled with empty buildings, empty lots with rubble from fallen buildings, patches of desert filled with the sand that is creating the dust, and businesses that remind you of an inner city slum.  The view of the Gulf rises out of the clutter like a Phoenix.  The Gulf of Arabia is beautiful.  Every time I see it I am immediately transported to Tampa Bay, Florida.  The water is still and blue – a color of blue that combines azure and cerulean with turquoise to create a color that is pure pleasure.  The causeway bridge is well built, well maintained and an excellent road for driving.  Once on the causeway a strange sense of normalcy begins to settle over me.  I am happily conversing with the new friends I have met and anxiously awaiting a haircut.

Check points are not too crowded this morning because there are several lanes open.  First the vehicle we are in must clear the exit process.  Next all passports are surrendered for the Saudi government to verify we have the necessary visa to exit Saudi.  The vehicle must stop to purchase insurance to enter Bahrain, again passengers surrender passports to Bahraini immigration and finally the car is searched for any contraband being brought into Bahrain.  Five checkpoints in all and the last one is a mystery – what is there to smuggle out of Saudi or into Bahrain???

Bahrain is like a tropical paradise.  The Gulf can be seen from almost every angle.  The buildings are a brilliant display of some of the world’s fines architecture.  The glass and steel high rises gleam with the morning sun.  We all feel a sense of freedom that is at times greatly missed in Saudi.  Here we are free to dress as we like – short skirts, crop pants, sundresses, tank tops and we are not required to wear the hot black robes called abayas that must be worn when off the camp in Saudi. 

The shuttle stops at two malls, the Ritz Carlton hotel and Trader Vic’s.  I am getting off at the mall for a short taxi ride to the hair salon.  The salon is a chain from Lebanon that has locations in three of the luxury hotels in Bahrain.  I have opted for the Regency Intercontinental because another girl I met recommended her stylist at this location.  The salon is modern and hustling with ladies in chairs getting haircuts, colored, blow dried and styled.  I immediately like to vibe of the grey metal, black leather, red towels, and white tile.  Filipino women greet every customer and place them in a black robe to protect their clothes and bring them coffee, tea, cappuccino, or water.  The stylists are assisted by the Filipino women to do everything from hold the foil pieces for hair color to shampoo and blow dry the hair.  I am fascinated by the way the stylists move from chair to chair performing the cutting, coloring, or actual styling and leaving the other work to the assistants. 

As I enjoy a relaxing shampoo complete with head, neck and shoulders massage and listen to the pop music play in the background I hear the ever familiar call to prayer waft through the air like the familiar scent of cookies baking.  Above the din of clacking scissors and humming blow dryers and ladies nattering about their day the Imam still manages to call people to prayer with his lyrical chants of the Quran.  I am reminded that as normal as it feels to me I am still a long way from home. 

Bahrain is an essential part of living in Saudi.  I can’t imagine living here without it.  It is an escape from the daily frustrations of language and communication barriers; hot, heavy abayas; always conservative dress; no alcoholic beverages; no bacon for bacon and eggs or BLT sandwiches.  Not being able to try on clothes at the mall.  Having your cosmetics and lingerie sold to you by a man.  All just little things that were taken for granted in the US but are actually quite disturbing.  Here, it seems as if all wrongs have been righted.  Of course, there are the armored tanks, machine guns, soldiers patrolling parts of town and such things as these that bring you quickly back to the reality you are still in an oppressive society without many of the freedoms we take for granted. 

After my hair cut I relax in the regal lobby of the hotel and wait for a taxi to take me to one of the malls.  I don’t have any plans to shop but I have to wait for the shuttle to pick me up there for the ride back to Dhahran.  I feel like a wealthy American tourist and enjoy the time watching the real wealthy tourists watch me! 

The mall is as all malls.  The summer sales are on now and everything is marked down 50-70%.  Business in Bahrain has been hurt because of the political unrest and the fact that for a while Saudis were not allowed in the country at all, and then Shia Muslims from Saudi were not allowed in.  It is now back to business as usual but the economy has suffered a serious blow and still people are leery of going over from Saudi.  I enjoy a nice lunch at a little French café, wonder aimlessly for a couple of hours and long for the freedom to get into my car and leave when I am ready.   I can’t, so I find a place to sit and read a book and newspaper on my iPAD.

The drive back across the causeway is the exact reverse of the five checkpoints coming over.  Traffic is bad and the ability of drivers to queue is being tested.  We narrowly escape being crushed between two inpatient Saudi drivers anxious to get back to their native soil!  Across the Gulf it is evident that the dust in the air has grown even thicker.  You can barely see the horizon and the sun looks more like a giant yellow plate hanging on a gray wall.  Everyone is relaxed and happy.  Most have had a few cocktails at Trader Vic’s and are animated as they recount their day.  A few good laughs and stories about past times and we are suddenly back safely on camp.  Hugs and farewells, wishes for the remainder of the weekend and we all part with the same thought – Thank goodness for Bahrain….we can’t imagine life here without it!

Arabic Rules of the Road

As you have probably noted, my blog posts have been a bit few and far between!  I love keeping in touch with you all by writing this blog but I actually have been quite busy with my life here and somehow the time is gone before I realize it!   All of the expats that live here actually think there is a time warp here that makes the time go by faster.  We call it “Arabic time” – the clock just runs faster here and the days, weeks and months go by at lightning speed.

Days at work are usually filled with the usual meetings and emails and problem solving on the fly.  When I first arrived I was struck by how there seemed to be a complete lack of planning in any area of the organization.  I assumed that was just because up until about 2 years ago the hospital was run by an engineer from the oil production side.  I reminded myself that this is an oil company, not a healthcare company and the hospital and clinics only serve as a service to the employees that actually produce the oil.  FACTOID:  Oil production in approximately the first four days of each month pay for the monthly operations for the company – all remaining production is profit (predominantly to the Royal Family)!

Evenings are busy too!  I try to Zumba at least twice a week and walk at least twice a week.  I am starting to relocate my “girlish” figure – I thought I had lost it forever!!  Sometimes a group of us will go to a movie or have dinner together.  I always find time to check email and Facebook.  The evenings at home alone are hard and that is the time I am most homesick.  Keeping busy and staying out of the house until near bed time makes the homesickness tolerable.  Days off can be hard too – anytime with too much time to miss my husband, dogs, house and family is dangerous – I have to keep myself occupied!   Shopping in Khobar is good for killing time since you can go grocery shopping or just wander around anyone of several big malls.  The malls are kind of strange because they are designed with no real plan.  They seem to have a million stores selling the same things all located in the same area and most of what they are selling isn’t really something you want to buy.  A popular kiosk is the one that sells canned corn in little cups.  This is really interesting to me and I have often wondered if a cup of canned corn that has been sitting in a steamer has less nutritional value than a large chocolate chip cooking sandwiched with white frosting?

This brings me to the real subject of my blog today:  The rules of the road in Saudi Arabia.  I have hinted before that driving is probably the scariest thing you could ever do.  It would make a camel ride look tame!  So here is what I have noted:

1.        A speed limit is only a suggestion.  If you are in a hurry and need to go fast you can totally disregard the signs and drive as fast as your car can go. 

2.       If there is a traffic jam and the cars are all stopped, simply go around the other drivers on the shoulder of the road.  You can go on the left or right, it doesn’t matter because the only object is to be first!

3.       Red, green and yellow lights have only one purpose – they decorate “holiday trees”.  Since the Saudis don’t celebrate that “holiday” there really is no need for the lights so whatever those light thingies are – ignore them.

4.       A “stop sign” even written in Arabic is still a red octagonal sign but its purpose here is unclear.

5.       The white lines that are painted down the pavement that divide it into areas we call “lanes” in the west are simply there for decoration.  Straddling them, crossing them without warning, weaving back and forth between them is all perfectly acceptable and should be no cause for alarm.

6.       Seat belts are way to constricting.  They make it difficult to maneuver at high speeds, especially when you are passing other drivers on the left side between the mysterious solid white or yellow line and the concrete barrier.  By the way, what is a concrete wall doing dividing the traffic moving in opposite directions??   Oh, seat belts, yes, I forgot, don’t bother…

7.       If there is traffic all around but you want to turn, just do it!  It is fun to watch the other people slam on their brakes while you speed off in front of them!  Right hand turns across three lanes of traffic or left hand turns with no signal hone the skills of the other drivers!

8.       There is no need to queue when you drive.  Any more than there is a reason to queue when you are at a store waiting to check out.  If you all just muck in together sooner or later someone will move.

9.       If there is a pedestrian in the cross walk, speed up.  They will get out of the way.

10.   If the car in front of you is approaching a driveway on their right, even if they have a turn signal on and have begun to slow down, zoom around them on the right side.  It is too much trouble to stop and wait for them to make their turn.

These rules are not only handy for driving but they also make shopping at a crowded mall or grocery store very interesting.  A couple of weeks ago I went shopping at a very large supermarket call LULU (something like a Super Wal-Mart).  I wanted some produce from the produce section and my unfortunate luck was that I didn’t get to the section until the call for prayer.  As I have said before, when the call for prayer happens, all the workers take a break.  The customers are often allowed to continue their shopping and this was the case at LULU.  Produce has to be weighed and labeled at a counter in the middle of the produce department because the check-out stands are not equipped with scales to weigh the produce.  Thursdays are the first day of our weekend, so as you might imagine the grocery store was bustling.  People from all nations are looking for their five fruits and vegetables for the week.  Bananas, pears, oranges, peaches, nectarines, guavas, star fruits, mangoes, apples, grapes, and fruits I have never seen before were being grabbed up and bagged for weighing.  All types of lettuces and greens, beans, broccoli, cauliflower, fresh herbs, potatoes, squashes and other vegetables were also being bagged for weighing and the scene looked something like a shark feeding frenzy.  Once the prayer ended and the workers came back to the weighing stations you might have expected people to queue up orderly and get their produced weighed and labeled.  NOT TRUE!!!!  It looked more like rush hour on a weekend night and I was taught a very important lesson:  It’s a good thing women can’t drive!  It also confirmed something I began to suspect early on in my arrival – this is a society that does not plan.  There is no plan for how to organize a business, how to take care of patients at a hospital, how to manage the traffic flow on the highways, or even how much oil to produce.  It is seemingly all done in a random fashion without a plan.  Alas, the fact we get anything accomplished is proof it is the Magic Kingdom!!!

Airports...

I remember the night I landed at the Damman International Airport.  I had been traveling for 2 days, I was tired, anxious, nervous and in a bit of a fog.  The airport seemed huge and I remember walking a very long way from the gate to the terminal where I would go through immigration and customs.  What struck me the most about that walk was the absence of any little shops, kiosks, snack bars, newsstands or any sign that people actually fly in or out of the airport.  I thought it was odd but chalked it up to fatigue.

I went home last week for my stepson’s wedding.  I was told that no one really flies out of Damman after their initial arrival into Saudi.  So, on the advice of my fellow Aramcons, I made my reservation to fly out of Bahrain.  Of course I had no way of knowing at the time that Bahrain would undergo serious civil unrest about a month prior to me leaving and would be placed under martial law with a curfew.  Most international flights from Bahrain leave after midnight; the curfew was 9 pm.  The day before my flight I learned I would have to leave at 9 pm and go to Doha, Qatar to wait for my 1:40 am flight.

I arranged for a driver to take me to Bahrain and pick me up again when I returned.  He was a very nice Pakistani man that enjoyed a discussion about Osama bin Laden’s murder and the thoughts of the local Saudi’s and his fellow Pakistani’s that bin Laden was actually dead for years prior to this and they believe it is a political stunt for Barak Obama.  Upon arrival at the airport we unloaded the bag onto a trolley and all luggage and carry-ons were x-rayed at the door before entering the terminal.  The Bahrain airport is not so big but it is certainly busy and there was a sea of people from all over the world heading out into the night.  Once my bags were checked and I paid the requisite 2 dinar for my exit visa headed to the gate.  Since you are allowed to drink alcohol in Bahrain, finding food and drink was not a problem!  Sufficiently nourished I was ready to board the plane and approached the gate to find that security screened every carry-on by hand, unpacking every item for inspection.

The Doha airport was an absolute sea of people from every nation you can name.  The duty free shops were packed with people buying everything they could put their hands on.  The smell of body odor permeated the air and hung there like a cloud.  People were sleeping in chairs, surrounded by parcels, backpacks, and other items including their small children that climbed over and around like cats.  

I slept comfortably in my British Airways airbus all the way to London where I eagerly waited to see my oldest son and meet his girlfriend.  Heathrow was everything that Bahrain isn’t:  it’s big, busy, and fast!!!  I spent some time shopping in the duty free area, grabbed a cup of coffee and went to the gate.   I spotted my son in the security queue about 10 minutes after I passed and we enjoyed a long awaited embrace that I hoped would never end!  Our flight home was filled with laughter and food and movies and chat.  I was beginning to feel whole again!

The beach house was perfect and actually better than expected.  The pool area was pristine and the peaceful lull of the waterfall was perfect.  My husband, mom and youngest son arrived shortly after us and Saudi seemed like a distant memory.  The wedding was perfect, not a hitch with the weather, the guests, the food or anything else.  Kelly, the bride, was beautiful and Scoot, the groom seemed to being have the time of his life.  Everyone laughed and drank and hugged and breathed in every minute of happiness that permeated the air.  We spent the next several days swimming in the turquoise blue sea surrounded by manatees and dolphins, laying on the powder white sand and soaking in the warm sun hanging in a cloudless sky.  Georgiana, my best friend, flew in for a couple of days and we enjoyed the company of all the family and wedding guests.

The week was over in a blink and it was time to head back to work and my other life halfway around the globe.  Tamp International Airport has always been one of my favorite places to fly out of.  It has really nice shops and restaurants to occupy your time and it is so easy to navigate.  My family stood waving and shouting ‘I love you”s until I got on the shuttle that would take me to the gate.  It was very hard to leave that scene…I flew through security and boarded the plane for Chicago where I would fly to London and eventually back to Saudi Arabia.

If you fly as often as I have, you learn quickly that most everything about travel by air is totally out of your control.  There are ground stops, traffic delays, holding patterns and of course weather issues!  Lucky me, I got to experience all of these before I even landed in Chicago.   Thanks to all of these delays I missed my connection in London and was re-routed on Emirates Airlines through Dubai.  I always wanted to go to Dubai, unfortunately not on that day at that time and I was very upset at the thought of flying an Arab airline.  I wasn’t scared about the safety; I just simply wasn’t ready to face the men being separated from the women, and some of the other cultural customs that seem very different to me.  All in all the flight was very nice, extremely comfortable and the service was top notch. 

I arrived in Bahrain right on time and quickly cleared immigration.  At baggage claim I discovered one of my bags didn’t make it on the flight and after a long discussion with service agent I was told they could not deliver my bag to Saudi because there were still sanctions on the causeway so my only option was to have the bag flown to Damman International Airport for me to pick up.  Frustrated, I knew this meant an expensive taxi ride and the possibility of extra scrutiny of the contents in Damman.

Most of us use a local taxi service here because we can’t drive off the compound and the taxis you get in town are dirty, smelly and have drivers that are likely to kill you with their driving!!  My taxi picked me up at work and my driver was another lovely man, most likely from Pakistan.  He drove me to the airport and reassured me that he would come in with me. When I entered the Damman International Airport I was quickly reminded of the night I arrived three months ago.  The airport has an eerie feel about it.  It is mostly empty and even in the public areas outside of security there is no shopping and only a single coffee stand for people waiting to greet arriving passengers. When I approached to window to request my bag I was so rattled I couldn’t remember a word of Arabic, the heavy man sitting behind the glass looked at me with disgust, pounded the wall behind him and ordered me to take a seat.   Having a man accompany me meant I did not get much of a hassle and was almost a guarantee that the transaction would be smooth.  That turned out to be exactly the case and I quickly departed bags in hand. 

It’s amazing how three short months can make you appreciate your home land and your family so much.   Airports have shops and restaurants and bars; malls are like malls and you can even try on the clothes before you buy them; grocery stores have so many choices that I wanted one of everything and had to resist the urge to hoard what they had for fear I might not get it again for months!  On the other hand, when I got back to the Kingdom I was greeted by Val,  one of my new friends who asked me out for breakfast and my co-workers left a huge bouquet of flowers on my desk and welcoming hugs that said a genuine “we’re glad you’re back”.  I am ever reminded it is the Magic Kingdom.

Places and Faces...

Janadryiah

Big green caterpillar buses line the street as people of all ages crowd up to get their box lunch and board.  There is a buzz in the air because this is a big chance for expats to see the real Saudi Arabia and the Arabs are looking forward to celebrating with their fellow countrymen.  There are many men in white thobes and ghutra’s.  All of the women are wearing their black abayas and if they don’t have their head scarves already on they are prepared with them at hand.

The busses pull out and head to the Dammam airport about 30 miles away.  We are taking a company plane to Riyadh and there is a certain excitement about even this fact.  The airport is the same airport I flew into 2 months ago and I was so dazed I barely remember landing.  The Saudi gentleman leading the trip passes by to make sure everyone is settled and ready to go.  I am practicing my Arabic with a friend and noting that I have learned about 100 words so far!

We approach the airport and I am awestruck when I see “Welcome to Saudi Aramco Aeronautics” written on the side of a very large, very nice terminal.  I knew the company owned planes, helicopters and buses.  They have oil rigs, wells, and pipelines across almost every inch of Saudi and many people have to travel back and forth from the remote areas to the corporate office in Dhahran for business purposes.  I had no idea that they had their own terminal – complete with security screening, ticket agents, baggage claim, waiting areas and a snack bar!  It is all very modern and very organized.  There are actually 2 separate concourses and of course separate waiting areas for men and women.

Once all boarding passes have been issued and there is clearance that everyone has their iqama we are ready to board.  The plan is one of 6 nearly new 737 just like the ones Southwest Airlines flies.  I was expecting a more military flight but instead I had a very comfortable seat complete with flight attendants, beverage service and drop down TV screens.  I sat by the window so I could see the changing scenery of the desert as we flew to the capital city of Riyadh. 

Janadyriah is a village about 45 km north of Riyadh and every year they host a festival that is something like a state fair minus the carnival rides.  We met 12 other busses from two of the other Aramco residential camps and we were escorted by security police to the front gate.  The festival goes for 2 weeks but only one weekend is for families and expats.  This day there are over 500,000 Saudi men, women and children attending!!  There is an absolute sea of thobes, ghutras, abayas and nijabs.  The central provence is one of the most conservative areas so nearly all of the women are fully covered from head to toe in black.  Some expose their eyes; others are covered completely or wear sunglasses.   We were all prepared that we would be asked to cover our hair as well, we never were. 

The buildings house exhibits about either the different regions of the country or the Ministries of the government.  Japan was the host country this year so there was a special exhibit about Japan.  Food vendors line the pathways and a steady stream of people flow in and out of each exhibit.  Lines are long; it is very hot with the sun overhead and the black abaya on.  A friend and I stop for some icecream and suddenly there is a crowd forming and I begin to hear drums beating.  A parade is coming down the street with men from all of the tribes in Saudi dressed in costumes native to their region and performing the traditional dances and chants.  The costumes are colorful and everyone is clearly enjoying the show!  Simultaneously, the Saudi air force performs an amazing air show complete with smoke and daring formations.  Three men dressed in desert coats ride along on camels looking something like the Three Kings.

We ate our ice cream and watched the fun, then headed off to see how camels were used to get water out of the ground in the old days.  As the sun began to set we enjoyed other performances of native dancing and singing on huge stages throughout the festival.  I notice the stacks of Persian carpets when we arrived and wondered what they were for.  Now, in the twilight I see they have been rolled out to serve as park benches where families sit and have picnics complete with tea and coffee pots.  The children take naps in the mothers’ laps and the older people just appreciate a chance to rest.  I am struck by how some of the old traditions remain from the days of the Bedouin.  Families also bring their own carpets much like we would bring lawn chairs.  They spread them on the ground and enjoy watching the scenes around them while they eat dates and drink the Arabic coffee or tea.

Arabic coffee is made from green coffee beans which are brewed and mixed with cardamom and sugar and then served from a brass pot called a “dallah”.  It has a very unique spicy taste and some is better than others depending on how it is made.  It is always served with dates and the coffee is in small cups without a handle that are usually hand painted and very pretty.  Arabic coffee and dates are essential to welcoming guests and this combination is served at every social function.  We enter an exhibit for a southern region of the country and enjoy a lovely cup of Arabic coffee, some very nice organic dates and a private tour of the exhibit.

Traditionally, women are not supposed to be photographed.  Men are probably not either but they tend to be more forward in asking to have photos taken of themselves.  On this occasion though we are like rock stars!  Everyone one is asking to have their picture taken with us.  Some want it taken with their camera others don’t have a camera and just want a picture made with the Americans.  The young girls completely covered in black ask to take our pictures and then want a picture taken with us.  They are so excited to see us and can’t stop staring at our hair and faces.  A young man in a thobe is wearing a cowboy hat and wants to have a group photo taken with us using his camera and of course we all want the photo taken on our cameras too!  His friends are happy to oblige.   As we drift from exhibit to exhibit we separate so some of us can watch the dancing on a giant stage and others can wander through the souks looking at spices, handmade sandals, handmade baskets, sweets and baked goods and other native items.  We also enjoy watching the children take turns riding camels and playing with toy swords and dolls.  Val, my friend that arranged for this trip and I try to buy huge dallahs that could be used for decorations in our house or garden.  The old Bedouin that is selling the items is brown with leathered skin from years in the desert sun.  He doesn’t speak any English and our Arabic is minimal.  He is dressed in an old thobe and desert coat with his ghutra wrapped around his head like a turban.  He has almost no teeth and his bare feet are knarrled and dry – evidence of the harsh life in the desert.  Several women hear us trying to bargain with this man and decide to chime in in Arabic.  He is steadfast about his price and Val and I decide it would be too hard to carry the pots anyway so we head off to find the rest of our group.

Our other friends are sitting on cushions on the giant stage and once we join them people start approaching the stage to take pictures of us.  We all have a good laugh and a well needed rest before we head off to see more of the festival.  Val and I try one more time for the giant dallahs without success and opt for a large, functional handmade basket instead.  The evening has slipped into night and it is time for us to leave.  The crowd has grown exponentially making navigation with the giant baskets a challenge.  Long carpets are now laid out down the center of the roads and men, women, children, and elders are reclining with their tea, coffee, dates and other food taking a well-deserved break from the crowds and the heat. 

Back onboard the buses to the private terminal for the quick one hour flight back to Dammam.  We settle in, exhausted but satisfied by our adventure.  Another amazing week with the places and faces of Saudi has come to end.

Easter in the Middle East

The bleachers look out over a paddock designed for showing horses.  Today, there are microphones and guitars and even a flute set along the edge of the bleachers.  Sunday is not a day of worship here, it is a work day but this day is different.  Today is the day of the Risen Lord!  Some hundred plus people pack into the bleachers dressed in bright colors and native costumes.  There is a buzz in the air and a warm breeze surrounds us like gauze. 

The dust is hanging in the air and the sky looks flat through the trees.  Everyone has finally settled in, we are after all on Arabic time.  Arabic time is meaningless, there is no hour, there is no minute…time just happens when it happens and so it is this morning.  The musicians begin to sing and as strains of “Christ the Lord is risen today” float through the dry, dusty air I notice a woman in her black abaya with head and face covered walking along the path beside the horse stables. 

The sounds of praise echo across the paddock and the sun begins to shine like a huge yellow ball hanging effortlessly in the dusty sky.  The message is the Good News that I have heard on countless Easter Sundays in the past but today it suddenly has a new meaning.  I feel very close to the places and events that are described and I have a new appreciation for what both the Father and the Son did for me.  As strange as it seems, I feel closer than ever before here in the desert in the Middle East.  The service ends and we great each other with heartfelt hugs and wishes for the new day.  Hot cross buns and coffee are served and we all head off to our respective jobs in different parts of the camp.  He is risen, He is risen indeed!!!

Random thoughts...

The camp is big.  It is spread out and there are all sorts of offices, shops, restaurants, and housing that cover a very large area.  The hospital is by far the largest building on the camp but most of the offices house people that support the oil and natural gas production, exploration and associated services.  Office buildings range from single story, non-descript buildings or houses to multi-story buildings with glass facades or rich marble exteriors.   Once inside the buildings you are likely to find a maze of offices and hallways that all look essentially the same.  Most have a large reception area that will house a coffee cart or small shop, where you can purchase coffee, tea, soft drinks or bottled water and sweet snacks like pastries, cookies or candies.   Drinking coffee or tea is a huge pastime here.  It is a ritual part of every meeting, formal or informal, and either coffee or tea is consumed almost non-stop throughout the day.  The Arabs love their sweets too!  Pastries, cookies, dates, and other sweet confections are present at most social events and can be purchased at every coffee shop, coffee kiosk or the café in the hospital throughout the day.

The green and white ‘caterpillar’ buses make their way around the camp at regularly scheduled intervals and serve as people movers for everyone from children going to school to workers headed to their jobs to the ‘dependent wives’ headed for recreational activities.  These are the buses that take us into Khobar or Dammam every day for shopping and on the weekends they make several trips back and forth.  They transport people to remote Aramco camps like Ras Tanura or Al Hossa.  These camps are quite far away and have residential housing much like the main camp in Dhahran.  They also have an emergency clinic in each of the camps that can be accessed 24 hours a day by the residents of the camp in case of emergency or urgent need.  The buses are the main mode of transportation for women who wish to travel outside the main camp for any reason such as shopping, the beach, or just visiting friends in other Aramco camps.

Old American school buses bring the workers from their barracks outside the main living quarters into the residential camp every morning at around 6:30 am and take them back again every evening around 5.  These are all men, from such places as Sri Lanka, Nepal and parts of India, Asia or the Middle East that are economically very poor.  The men often leave families at home to come here for work.  They most likely are paid only about $30 a week and they keep the trees, bushes, and shrubs trimmed, the lawns manicured, the streets cleaned, and the sidewalks hosed off daily.  The men earn extra money by washing cars and taking on additional work as gardeners for the residents living in the camp.  The gardeners and houseboys earn a pittance by American standards but this is a sort of social welfare program here that benefits everyone and in most cases it is significantly more than they could ever earn in their own countries.  They are housed in a couple of high-rise buildings at the edge of the residential part of the camp and they are not allowed free access to any of the amenities such as pools, restaurants, the library or the parks.  They cannot own vehicles and their residence is more like a dormitory than an apartment.  Some more fortunate houseboys are sponsored by an Aramco employee and will have the privilege of living in the employee’s house, but still no access to any of the other amenities. 

There is very much a class system here on the camp.  Never having spent any time in the military it seems rather strange to me but I suppose it isn’t all that different than what might happen on most military bases.  There is a ranking system, devised by job title and duties.  Those below certain job ranks are assigned housing in an area known as the ‘ballpark’.  The location is called that because at one time there actually was a baseball field in that area.  Now it is a large common with lush green grass and covered picnic tables flanked by the theatre, bowling alley, Tandori House restaurant, library and coffee shop.  The ballpark is a favorite gathering spot for everyone, especially after the blazing sun sets at night.  Family’s come here to picnic or enjoy the evening air.  Men come during prayer times to pray.  Evenings are spent alfresco sipping coffee on the patio and allowing the warm evening air to envelop you like a cashmere wrap.   Ballpark housing is made up of 300-500 square foot apartments that might also have a shared bath.  Housing is awarded based on job rank and a point system is used to bid for more desirable houses.  Houses are reserved for those with a more executive rank, however, so it is unlikely that a person living in the Ballpark will ever have enough points to move into an actual house.

Living quarters range from 500 - 1000 square foot townhomes like I live in to 2700 square foot houses that would rival some of the finest homes in the States.  These larger homes have hardwood floors, large privacy fenced yards, garages, and 2-3 bedrooms and up to 2 bathrooms.  Since most of the people living in the larger homes have lived here for some time they are also usually furnished with the finest furniture and carpets you can buy.  It is somewhat of a hobby here to collect “stuff” on the various exotic trips that are routinely taken.  Delft china from the Netherlands; French antiques; rosewood, teak and other expensive wood furniture from China or Thailand; carpets from Iraq, and so on can be found is large quantities in most homes.  It is always interesting to visit someone’s home and see what has been collected and treasured over the years.

For me, an American woman, I marvel at how surreal things seem at times.  The golf course, only about 50 feet from my apartment, is vast and green with gently rolling hills, gorgeous putting greens, palm trees and flowering shrubs in all colors from vibrant pink to spicy orange.   The green bushes and shrubs are meticulously trimmed into geometric shapes by hand by the men delivered every morning on the old yellow school buses.  Rarely do you see a dead leaf, broken branch or yard rubbish anywhere.  I have a small patch of land in front of my fence – I called housing and asked if they would pull the weeds and plant something there.  About two days later I had plants!!  And my gardener, a very sweet man from Nepal that speaks almost no English, brought pots and planted flowers in them for me to have on my patio – what a treat!!!  In some ways this feels more like Disney World than reality.  It can be mind-blowing if you think about it too hard.

After nearly two months, I still struggle to wrap my mind around life here.  Life is very easy for me here.  I can drive my little car all over camp, I rarely need to cook, and I now have a ‘houseboy’ (really more like a man for Sri Lanka) that does my cleaning and a gardener to keep the sand off my patio and my plants watered and fresh.  If I want something done around my house I just call the service center and they send someone to take care of it for me.  I also have a young man that washes my car once a week for about 4 dollars each time.  Work is difficult – there is no quality program here much to my surprise.  On the other hand, I am getting to create exactly what I want so eventually SAMSO will have the premier quality department that will probably serve as a role model for all other programs in the Kingdom.  Once again, I smile and marvel at where I have landed.

Embacing ambiguity....

I have heard about culture shock, and in fact, I was told I would experience when I made the decision to move.  I thought it was probably some psychobabble rhetoric that wouldn’t really affect me.  I have always considered myself pretty tough and determined enough to survive most anything.  Culture shock can be described in stages:  honeymoon phase, negotiation phase, adjustment phase, and mastery phase.  These phases can be described essentially just like you might think from the name of the phase. 

I arrived, obviously in the honeymoon phase.  Everything was magical, fascinating, different, and exciting.  In the negotiation phase the differences between the old and the new culture become more apparent and can create anxiety.  Language barriers, extreme differences in public hygiene, traffic safety, differences in types and availability of food all lead to a heightened sense of disconnection and ultimately a sense of frustration.

After much deliberation to include gnashing of teeth I decided I really need to have a car.  I have been very blessed by a couple that barely new me and loaned me their car for a month while they were back home in the States on holiday.  It has been wonderful having a sense of freedom even though I can only drive as far as the main gates of the compound.  Buying more than a handful of groceries or running home at lunch becomes very simple with a car. 

I carefully reviewed the classified ads on the company intranet page and ruled out all cars that were over 15 years old, had more than 285K kilometers, or cost over 15,000 SAR (approximately 5,000 USD).  I also had several people looking through word of mouth for me but I also ruled out large vans and makes of cars I knew to be unreliable.  This obviously meant that my choices were limited.  I found a relatively new car (2006) with low mileage (26,000 miles) in my price range and decided that was the one.  A nice Filipino man was selling the car and we agreed to meet so I could view and test drive it.  I decided it was perfect:  small, peppy, clean, well maintained and best of all BLUE!

This is where my story really begins.  You must remember that women are not allowed to drive in Saudi.  The company I work for is the ONLY company in the country that allows women to drive on the compound.  No other compounds allow women to drive and women are forbidden to driveoutside.  To buy the car, I would have to go with the Filipino man and his brother (who really owns the car) into Khobar to a used car dealer who would complete the paper work and make the title exchange.  I  already understood that I would be buying this car on faith – I didn’t have my husband here to give it a thorough once over, I couldn’t reach a mechanic that might check it over…I was assured that Filipinos take great pride in their cars and so this car had probably been very well maintained.  I would also have to go to a strange place in a car with a man I don’t know – something I would never even consider doing at home!!

Khobar is a fairly big city by Saudi standards.  There is a lot of traffic especially at night and we were headed into the beginning of the weekend as well.  Driving is Saudi is an experience unto its own.  Imagine being live in the game Grand Theft Auto.  Cars flying by you in all directions, speed is not a consideration, and traffic rules don’t exist!  I couldn’t watch – I was so terrified that we would be killed by another car I wasn’t even concerned that this stranger might harm me in some other way.  We were driving fast, tailgating, dodging in and out of lanes, slamming on breaks, and the crazy thing is that is normal.

We arrived at the car dealer in a terrible part of town, burned out buildings, rubble all around and I realized, I am somewhere very strange to me and I am not sure I like this.  The owner of the shop, a large Saudi man with a straggly beard, wearing a dingy white thobe and gutra greeted us by announcing “women are like snakes, they should all be killed!  I have had 2 or 3 wives and none of them were any good”.   I looked at the 3 other Saudi men behind the counter, they were not smiling, and I just laughed to myself.  I thought, “how crazy is this, I can’t believe he just said that!”.  Some paper shuffling, a little shouting, and a few hundred SAR(money) later I left with the two Filipino men having signed the car over to me.  Back into the crazy traffic for the ride “home”.

Morning came very early.  I was heading to the desert to see camels and have a picnic and after my night I really wanted to be headed to the airport.  I called my husband for a quick word of reassurance and burst into tears.  As I climbed aboard the bus that looks like a giant green and white caterpillar, the tour guide asked me, “Are you crying?” I said “no” and put my sunglasses on. 

We stopped at a coffee shop to use the toilets and get coffee or tea or water.  I had to remember that the entrance for women is at the back of the shop and I could see from the door it wasn’t a place I would be ordering anything from.  It made my worst Waffle House experience seem like 5 star dining.  I decided I would just use the toilet instead.  To say it was a typical gas station bathroom is an understatement.  I didn’t see any way I could maneuver my abaya, slacks, personal garments and take care of business over an open trough.  But, as they say, “you gotta do what you gotta do”, so I did.

Our first stop was a camel market.  Camel reigns, camel saddles, camel blankets, camel bags and camel milk.  It was most interesting.  Here I was reminded of why I don’t run screaming back to the US.  The souks are filled with sights and smells never seen before.  The fully veiled women are warm and kind and inviting to talk with Western women.  I have learned about 20 Arabic words so far, enough to say hello, how much, thank you, I am new here, and good-bye.  I feel a connection and am reminded that these are women not so different from me.  They have families, husbands, children and they are all doing a honest day’s work to help support those they love.  They are very proud of their crafts and anxious to show anyone that will take a look.  The men speak more English and are enjoying the sight of Western women with their hair and faces exposed.  They want us to take their pictures and to tell them where we are from.  They are also selling such things as dates, spices, goats, etc.  The spice souks are filled with fragrant, sweet, exotic smells that remind me of the kitchen when I was growing up.  There are stalls filled with beautiful fabrics: silk, linen, cotton in vibrant colors of yellow, red, purple, orange, green and many shades of blue.  I use this as a chance to practice saying my colors in Arabic.

With our camel prods, camel bags, carpets, tea pots and other treasures stowed safely under the bus we head off to our next stop.  A quick stop at a restaurant in Nyria to pick up lunch and we arrive for what is supposed to be a brief 15 minute visit at a camel farm.  There are camels of all sizes and colors and camels are really interesting animals.  They are very curious and were not afraid at all to come close to be petted or photographed or fed. Some camels would be sold to be butchered and eaten and some would be sold to produce more camels.  They were priced as high as 150,000 SAR (approximately 40,000 USD)!  The Saudi farmer that owned the camels was proud to show us the father of the entire heard.  This camel had free reign to roam the area as he pleased.  The herd was surprisingly well maintained and appeared to be well fed.  And by now I was settling into a rhythm that yesterday seemed totally strange and in some ways frightening, but today is another day that is equally as strange in many ways.

Our trip concluded with lunch at some type of governor’s building.  I really wasn’t able to figure out what the place was but we had a place to wash our hands with soap and running water so I was happy!  The toilets were no better than the first stop but I had also learned to manage my personal needs by this time!

Shoes off, lunch in hand, I enter a big hall with Persian carpets on the floor and understand this is the table.  We all sit along the carpets and enjoy our lunch of hummus, muttabol, grape leaves, tandoori chicken and beef, and Arabic rice with flat bread.  After lunch we move to another hall for tea, coffee and dates.  Three young Saudis arrive with their falcon and the room is buzzing as we all get a chance to have a photo taken of us holding the falcon.  These birds are used for hunting and I enjoy learning about this using my new female Saudi friend to translate my questions and introduce me to new Arabic words.  A coke and a bottle of water mean another trip to the loo but by now I am resigned.  Sufficiently full of both food and culture, I climb back on the bus for the long ride to the compound.

It’s hard being somewhere new and strange where people don’t speak your language and nothing makes any sense.  Time has no meaning, what could be done at home in 30 minutes sometimes take hours here, and every day is filled with ambiguity.  My son reminded me that much of the world operates more like this than the US.  I chuckle and think about how uptight I can be when time and structure are not perfectly in place.  I feel this is a journey filled with ambiguity and I am learning to embrace it.