In my previous experiences, after having the chance to go abroad, when I came home and the experience ended, it became a blip in my life; a memory that, although wonderful, was over. I feel so blessed this time around to have the opportunity to return to Saudi Arabia. It’s like a second chance to do the things that I didn’t do, see, or learn the first time around. I left Saudi at the end of May for a summer vacation (my student chose not to take summer classes). After stopping in The Netherlands for some exploring, I returned to the comforts of home, family, and friends. My dad picked me up from the airport, and after two weeks of carrying a pack that weighed more than I did (I can never seem to get that pack just right), I was thrilled to throw it off, along with my abaya, and settle in.
In 1602, an anonymous bard wrote, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” as the opening sentence to a heartfelt poetical rhythm. Being away makes you think about the people in your life; the ones you miss the most, the people you think about often, and the folks that take up space in your head. It also has the effect of helping you step back and realize who you want in your life. I hate to say it, but distance is often the decipherer between good friends and acquaintances, lovers and exes, and between what’s important and what’s not.
I spent the summer hanging out with my mom, getting to know my niece and nephews (because they change every day), visiting friends in Pennsylvania, Colorado, and Michigan, talking with my dad on the back porch, camping with my brother and his family, dodging a hurricane in North Carolina, and generally enjoying the people and places that I love. I also enjoyed the outdoors while I had the chance. One of the things I miss the most when I’m in Saudi is being able to go outside for a long hike or walk. When I was contemplating accepting this position, I remember being so concerned with how I would react to not being able to spend as much time outside – the summer was my chance to catch-up, so that when I came back to Saudi, I was refreshed and ready.
I started work again at the end of August, although a detour was in the works. After two weeks in Boston, two weeks in Manhattan, and one week in Paris, our plane set wheels on Saudi territory. People kept asking me how it felt to go back; they wanted to know if I was nervous or cheerless about it. This time around, it was such a different feeling. There was no anxiety about what to expect. No concerns about how I would react to the culture and environment. I was allowed to simply be excited, because I already had a handle on things – and for this, I was so grateful. It was fun to come back and already know where to go to get groceries and fresh bread. To know when prayer time would shut down the stores, where the dry cleaners is, and how to get to the post office. I got to say hello to the staff that I had already met and was no longer considered as the “new American girl”.
I have said this before, but the best lesson that I have learned from being here, from being in such a unique environment, is that it is remarkable to have the chance to learn that I can feel like a happy person regardless of situation (at least so far). That being said, there are moments of sadness and homesickness, which are to be expected. My first jolt of this hit me the weekend of October 22. A wonderful friend was getting married in Pennsylvania, to the woman of his dreams. Several of my beloved friends were gathered to celebrate this special occasion with the happy couple, and I had to miss it. These are the moments that make you question your decisions. These are the moments when you weigh the opportunity against the memories that you are missing out on. It’s in these times that the people I mentioned earlier – the family and friends that you miss the most, are so important to reach out to.
Although I tried last semester to make connections, the Saudi social scene is a hard one to break into; however before leaving in May, I went to an event for a newly arranged group for expats living in the area. The week after returning to Riyadh, I purchased tickets to my first event. Having not convinced any of the other three people from my compound to join me, I headed off to see what it had to offer. The night was a breath of fresh air – at my table alone were people from Canada, England, the Caribbean, the Czech Republic, and the US. After a night of engaging conversation, funny stories, and sheer light heartedness, I exchanged phone numbers and emails, and left with a renewed sense of excitement at the possibility of new friendships.
Recently, the king declared that Saudi women will have the right to vote in the next election; a victory in the eyes of most people around the world. Although it is hard to understand, the decision was met with mixed attitudes here in its homeland. It is important to note that the next election is not until 2015 and I am unclear as to whether or not women will need male approval for this right to vote, because in Saudi the guardianship laws are still in place. The Arab spring has only touched Saudi with its fingertips. This immensely religious culture has felt little effect (at least as far as I can see) from the new dawning that seems to be surrounding its borders. Some have said that this was a way for King Abdullah to prevent an outcry from the women here who want more freedoms. Others have argued that this was a sign of his progressive attitude and enlightened sensibility. Even in a monarch society, there are different sides to every story.
Crown Prince Sultan, the next in line for the crown of Saudi Arabia, passed away on October 22 in New York City. A beloved member of the society, he has been involved in Saudi politics since the ripe age of 16 – a career that blossomed throughout his lifetime. Funerals in Saudi are very different from the type of setting that I am used to in the states. My Lebanese neighbor shared with me that in her culture, people close to the person that passed wear black for a year and do not leave the house, as a sign of mourning and respect for their loved one. In Saudi, major events that are relatively close to the death of a family member (i.e. weddings or celebrations) are postponed until a reasonable amount of time has passed. As for the funeral, this cultures traditions reign supreme. The men in the family are tasked with the job of cleansing the body and then wrapping it in soft white cloth from head to toe. The body is then carried on the shoulders of sons and close ones to a place of mourning where it is splayed out and outlined with a perfumed treatment to prevent the smell from escaping. The body is then touched, ever so slightly, by those present. In American culture, the “spirit” (if you believe in that) is said to leave the body the minute that the heart stops beating. In Islam, the spirit is said to remain until the physical body is buried; thus, cremation is not an option here. Once the men have said their goodbyes, the women are afforded the opportunity to touch the deceased before he/she is taken to the grave site. Men and women, kings and peasants, are all buried in the same fashion. According to Muslim philosophy, this is because no one is different or greater than the other. This is a sign of equilibrium amongst Muslim people. The body is then taken to a cemetery, where only the men are allowed to enter the terrain. No tombstone or mark is placed above the grave – they can only be found by memory (or by a groundskeeper with a great memory or record). The cloth wrapping the departed’s head is brought down to show the face, and the person is buried. According to my student, the reason the cloth is taken off the face is to take away the barrier between that person and Allah (“peace be upon him”; apparently that is to follow whenever his name is mentioned). In the last seven months, the Saudi king has lost his sister and now his brother.
On a final note, I was recently stopped for the second time since being here by the religious police; the Mutawa. It’s amazing how they sneak up and catch you when you least expect them. Aware that women here cover their heads, but excused from doing it most times because I am not Muslim, I have grown comfortable with leaving my Niqab (headscarf) at home. Through fault of my own, I was not prepared when the men blocked in my car and told me to cover my head. Thankfully, they did not stick around to see that I didn’t have it with me; lesson learned. I slid into the car and we drove away. The back windows in cars here are always blacked out, because women (who are required to sit in the back) are not to be seen. I have a hard time with this because I love the fresh air of rolling down a window. So as a compromise, I have figured out the exact combination between how far I can roll the window down and how far leaned back to sit, without getting noticed. I’m always caught off guard when I see little boys sitting in the front seats, while their mothers and sisters climb effortlessly through the back door. I never imagined myself to be a backseat sort of lady but I think here it comes with the territory.
--C. Sims
