Celebrating Independence

For some reason, I always expect the places and people that I haven’t seen in a while to have changed in some way that I can see, or in ways that are tactile and tangible.  When I go home to the states, I’m somehow always surprised that the grass is green and my parent’s house looks the same, give or take a few seasonal decorations.  I’m sure a few people that I know have caught me staring at their faces wondering what, if anything, is different about them.  The only thing that truly changes is the height and vocabulary of my niece and nephews.  I suppose I feel this way because I always sense that I am missing so many important moments.  These feelings are the subject of an article I read the other day by Julia Kristeva called “The Foreigner”.  She refers to non-nationals, such as myself, as deriving “masochistic pleasure” from experiences outside our homeland.  The idea that one can love and relish being in a new place and learning the culture, while at the same time experiencing the longing and melancholy of being away from those that we love.

I arrived back in Riyadh at the beginning of September, after a wonderful summer break, and was mysteriously alarmed that the desert still reigns supreme.  I was surprised that the traffic was still as horrendous as when I left, and that my villa has all of the same pictures on the walls and pillows on the couch.  To be honest, every time this happens I ask myself, “What was I expecting, exactly?”.  But the answer is always the same.

Riyadh is very hot this time of year.  I have never been here in September, as I took this job in October of 2010, and last year we were traveling throughout the month.  Now, more than ever, I’m thankful for that trip because this heat is brutal!  Not to mention the fact that the country’s choice of attire for me isn’t exactly “breathable material”.  Nevertheless, there were definitely a few friendly faces and smiling persons that I was thrilled to see.  How grateful am I that there are persons whom I look forward to seeing wherever I am?  Very. 

I think it’s important to recognize that although places can be so different from the norm that we know, they can still have a quality that you miss when it’s absent.  When I took this job, a very good family friend, whom I have known my entire life, said to me, “Accept it for what it is and do not try to fight it, or you’ll miss out on the experience and you won’t get anything from it: adapt to it, don’t make it adapt to you”.  The pace of life in Riyadh has a relaxing tone.  I’ve written before about the sedentary lifestyle that I have historically struggled with, but I have come to appreciate and even look forward to those days when there is literally nothing to do but sit down for a while and just be.  My student has decided that I have become “a little Saudi.”  When I first arrived, I was a beehive of activity from start to finish (as much as I could be anyway).  She would tell me, “Slow down, it will all get done and it will get done on time.  You’re too busy, just be in the moment.”  I would tell her that the moment for me means not to let it go by unfilled.  Now, after nearly two years, sometimes I catch myself telling her to not stress and to give herself a minute to recoup.   Maybe she is right about me.  Maybe I am becoming “a little Saudi.”

In Islamic culture, there are not many holidays that are cause for complete celebration and rejoice, as we know it in the states.  Ramadan, the main holiday of the year, is more a time of reflection and prayer than it is for dancing, chanting, decorating, and singing.  Some of the traditional holidays that we celebrate in the U.S., such as New Years and Halloween, are borrowed for carnival here.  These holidays are not a part of Islamic culture, although from what I gather, they are used as mostly just a reason for the young people to get together with friends and say that it’s for a “cause.”  However today, September 23^rd, is National Day in Saudi Arabia, the basic equivalent of July 4^th in the U.S.

For most countries, the battle for independence is deep rooted in faith and a sense of freedom…freedom from control or freedom from disorder.  Abdul Aziz Bin Saud founded Saudi Arabia, although his battle for this kingdom began long before its sovereignty.  Before his conquests, Arabia was a “patchwork of tribal rulers”.  He fought each one, beginning in 1902, and finally reached his goal of a united, monarchal kingdom on this day in 1932.  The Saud family still reigns today. 

Aside from the historical significance of this holiday, as I mentioned, it is cause for celebration.  I should preface this by saying that I did not attend this year’s outdoor festivities.  Despite feeling safe in Saudi, given the nature of what’s happening in other parts of the Middle East right now, I felt it best to skip this event and admire it from the rooftop of my villa, and then learn about it from the mouths of a few friends who have been in country for a while.  If I tried to attend, I thought I might combust from hyper-vigilance in a group of so many.  That being said, the streets are lined with throngs of people tonight.  They are painted bright green from face to foot.  Their kids bear the colors of the Saudi flag (mostly green, with a little white).  Their cars are also painted with a washable material that turns them to the color of Islamic and territorial unification, not to mention the green wigs atop the heads of more than a few people.  They park in the middle of every street, get out of the cars, dance, and yell on behalf of Saudi Arabia.  The roads are undeniably packed and at its mecca (pun intended) is a sense of pride for their country.  The same pride, I’d imagine, that I feel when my country of origin celebrates its individualism and independence.

Two days ago was World Peace Day…one can only hope…and act.

Cat S.  

"A rolling stone gathers no moss"

Anyone who has ever moved to a new place, started a new job, picked up at a new school, or simply made a serious life change, knows that there is a period of adjustment that is inevitable.  When I was a young kid, my family moved from Alaska to Virginia over the course of a summer.  My parents purchased an RV for the ride and there was one special seat in that RV, right next to the door, that I made my own.  I built “a little nest” as my mom used to tell me.  I can’t remember if I was forced to take that seat by my older brothers or if I picked it on my own, but it was my place.  I haven’t changed much in that regard.  Whenever I move, I need my apartment set up as fast as possible.  I work relentlessly for days until it feels like a home.  For someone who has had 11 apartments/houses in the last 12 years, this fact makes for a lot of nesting time.  I tease my father for having a routine that is unwavering.  What he might not know, or maybe he does, is that it is so noticeable to me because I share a lot of the same qualities. 

I do not like transition, and despite doing it a lot, I even dread change in a way – because it is always associated with a period of conversion from the happy life and routine that already exists to the unknown.  What keeps me in the cycle is that I always love the outcome and I am always so happy that I took that step.  I have written about this before, but my older brother once told me that “people like us need to live at least 50% of the time doing things that are outside of our comfort zone”.   Even at the time, I knew he was right about me.  I think this is part of the reason that I have loved the world of academia so much.  Every 15 weeks there is a slight change to the routine and a chance to reestablish and learn something new.

When I moved to Saudi at the end of 2010, I knew that there would be an immense period of changeover; probably lasting longer than any amount of transition time before it.  One of my favorite traits about my mother is that she can walk into a room and know 10 people within 5 minutes.  She can create her own nest in a matter of a few short moments.  I always think about this when I go to a new place – just jump in and accept that you’re the new person and go for it.  This is usually fairly easy to do, but in Saudi, the story was a little different.  There is a moment after a change and after the rustled leaves of life settle back down, where you realize that all of the networking, friend-making, going to groups and meetings alone, and attempts at socializing, finally pay off.  You wake up one day and realize that your nights are all full of events and friends, dinners and get-togethers.  It’s that twinkling of a second where all of the hard work is realized.  Never has it taken me so long to get to that point after any new venture, but a year and half after being here, it has finally happened.  Saudi is such an underground and private culture, that it took 18 months to find that niche...but I’m happy that it has finally arrived, and proud of myself for having stuck through it, because the people that I have met along the way, will always be apart of this journey.  It has also been a great lesson in perseverance; a lesson that will no doubt impact any future changes from here on out.

Last Thursday night I was honored to have been invited to a high-end Saudi wedding.  Weddings in Saudi (at least this type of wedding) are a very esteemed and glamorous event.  Wearing my one and only gown, I arrived at a huge building, whose insides were custom built for this particular occasion.  The National Guard directed cars for the roughly 500-700 female guests to the entrance, where men in traditional military attire were waiting to open our doors.  As you know, Saudi is in the desert – which implies that the aroma of flowers is very hard to come by, so I was fabulously surprised when I entered and was hit in the face with a waft of thousands of fresh cut flowers.  After turning in my abaya and finding a seat in an enormous room full of couches and chairs, with a large isle down the middle that divided the room in half, I sat back and watched the fashion show in front of me.  Designer gowns and shoes, diamonds and emeralds dripping from the ears, necks, and wrists of women – it was like being at the Oscars.  Ironically, I later found out that people who did the lighting for the wedding actually are the same people that do the lighting for the Oscars every year. 

Despite the amazing clothes, hair, and make up, the culture of the event was just as remarkable.  Since men and women cannot mingle, the room was full of only women.  However, there were a few American and British male photographers walking around the space.  When they walked passed, many of the women pulled scarves over their faces, because it is unseemly for women to be photographed by a man, or to be in photographs in general.  A few hours into the countless bites of the most amazing chocolate I have ever had, the bride entered.  She had a six-minute walk from the second level, down a custom staircase, and onto the isle in the middle of the room.  She was alone; fathers do not accompany brides in Saudi on this occasion (as is customary in the states).  Truth be told, the actual wedding occurred two days prior, when the father of the bride signed his name in a book, declaring her husband as her new guardian.  My naivety took over a bit and I leaned to my friend and asked her, “Whom is she walking towards?”  Turns out, she was walking to a chair, on a stage, at the end of the room.  There was no service.  For the next 20 minutes, women lined up to take pictures with her.  At one point, several of the brides friends partook in a Kuwaiti tradition of pulling on black mesh cloth, lined in gold trim, with their names written in Arabic, and did a short dance for the bride.

After this time, a group of 15 men (including the groom) entered from the back of the space, dressed in traditional wedding Thobes (a customary male garment), and made their way to the front of the room where the bride was standing.  Women again covered their faces and the men did not divert their eyes, as it is inappropriate to look at women.  For the next 10 minutes, only women in the family (from the bride and grooms side) took pictures with the group, before everyone (including the bride and groom) exited the room.  During the entire night, this half hour was the only time that the bride was present. 

Several hours later, we were ushered into the most beautiful room I have ever seen.  Dressed in deep purple, the giant room was lit by hundreds of crystal sconces, each holding about 12 candles.  An 8 ½ foot cake decorated the doorway (the cake was never cut).  Tables with flowers and food peppered the room, but the real pièce de résistance was the food that lined the walls on both sides.  It would take days to describe exactly how much food was there and how good it was. 

Something worth noting is the timeframe that this wedding occurred.  I arrived at the building, along with a friend who was also invited, at 10:30pm.  The bride entered and left between the hours of 1am and 2am, and dinner was served at 4am.  I left at 6am and there were still several hundred people at the venue.  No alcohol and no men, just women rhythmically dancing to expected Arabic music. 

The entire night, from start to finish, was the best night that I have had in Saudi Arabia.  It was an amazing opportunity and is something that I will think about and remember for the rest of my life.  Latin writer, Publilius Syrus, was the first person credited with saying (although it has been adapted over the years), “A rolling stone gathers no moss”.  Respectfully, I have to disagree with Syrus on this one.  I may be a bit of rolling stone right now in life, but I am gathering moss – these memories, struggles, opportunities, and moments are my moss.  They make up the part of my life that will stick with me, long after I return home to my roots. 

--Cat S. 

As of late...

(My old computer crashed and erased the several blogs that I had going, so this is an attempt to rebuild one of them).

As of late, every time I sit staring out the window of a plane that is taking off, I reflect on my time in that place – wherever it was spent.  I left on Friday, January 27^th from Dulles airport in Virginia, headed once again towards Saudi Arabia.  In the six weeks that I was home, I spent time in Colorado with two of my favorite people, rang in the new year in West Virginia, partook in an annual tradition over the weekend in Philadelphia, spent nights with friends at home in Virginia, and days with my family.  I always leave feeling so grateful to have been home and sad to know that I will be missing lots of little things over the next couple of months. 

After a flight that I’m sure lasted longer than many relationships, I touched down in the desert and pulled out my abaya – which thankfully covered the coffee stain that I had my shirt from turbulence during the flight (who says wearing an abaya is a bad thing?).   I hate the pressure to grab your bags as fast as possible and get off the plane in an effort to be the first in line at baggage claim. Military folk know of a phrase associated this sort of thing; “Hurry up and wait”.  I decided a long time ago to not play this game at the airport.  So as usual, I was the last to get off the plane and the last to head towards customs.  The customs counter in Saudi is like no place that I have been before.  There are pupil scanners, finger scanners, a million questions about your purpose for being there, and for me, there are lots of inquisitive glances and prying eyes as to why I’m traveling alone – something that women here are not allowed to do.

I met my driver (a young Philipino man, named John, who’s real name is Lord…I don’t quite know the backstory for that one) at the end of a 500 person line – all people there to greet their loved ones and/or the people that they have sponsored for work in Saudi.  No one is allowed entrance into The Kingdom without a sponsor having validated their purpose and stated their responsibility for that person while they are in the territory (Imagine if the U.S. did such a thing?).  A very good friend of mine, who has seen the majority of my last 12 apartments in 12 years, is planning to visit me in May.  In order to process her request, I had to submit a copy of her passport to my sponsor, who then asked me numerous questions encompassing everything from how well I know her to whether or not she is planning on writing a book about her experience in Riyadh.  Next, he will draft a formal invitation to her to come to Saudi on a visitor’s visa, and submit it to one of the four Saudi embassies in America.  Although it sounds rather succinct, things have a way of moving a bit slower in Saudi – which has ended up being a very good lesson in patience and relaxation – a lesson that I’m certain I needed.

My mother has told me in the past that I have quite the “wanderlust” – in fact, I do not remember ever feeling any different towards traveling and going places.  Because of this intrinsic desire, I cannot even begin to say how many travel shows, cultural documentaries, and articles about different places I have under my belt.   One thing that has always caught my attention is the market places; the gobs of people, the so-called chaos, the pushing, shoving, and plain disorganization.  Last March I visited Turkey for a short vacation.  On the European side of Istanbul is a growing market of cheeses, shops, bread, drink, food, and grocery.  It is also home to the world’s oldest market, The Grand Bazaar.  It is exactly like the travel channels depict. Either you have to jump right in and go for it or get the hell out.  Either you embrace it or you’ll hate it.  For some reason, this is what I expect from a street market and I loved it (although I could have done without so much bargaining), it’s not the kind of thing I generally expect in your standard grocery store.

I mentioned that the customs lines at the Riyadh Airport (RUH) are like no place I have seen before, the same goes for the major grocery stores in the area…as strange as that sounds.  When I think of a supermarket, I think about slowly walking up on the right side, and down one the left side of the isles.  I think of casual greetings and neatly displayed fresh fruit that’s been recently misted in a cool spray.  In Riyadh however, it’s a different story.  Inside the walls of Carrefour Grocery lay the equivalent of the outdoor market on the streets on Istanbul, although I do not find this place as electric.  People are bumping in to each other, yelling, placing their carts perpendicularly in the middle of the isles.  They are digging through fruits and vegetables to find the best ones (because most of them are not).  There are cornhusks and grape leaves scattered around the floor, there are also twice as many people because many women do not leave home without the company of a male.  At the very heart of the fruit and vegetable section is a weigh station.  Anything being purchased from this section needs to be scanned and barcoded before it can pass through the registers at the front of the store.  It is in this spot, that I find myself wanting to be anywhere but there.  There is no sense of order, no line, no idea who should be first and who should be last.  Much like I do when I’m getting off a plane, I tend to just stand there and wait…most of the time I think to myself that I need to make sure the expression on my face is not indicative of how I’m actually feeling at that moment.  What I wouldn’t give for one of those ticket machines you typically find at the meat counter…

I’ve talked in the past about the abaya that I wear on a daily basis, and I’ve spoken of the Niqab and the Hijab, the head/face scarves that women wear, however I have not yet expressed my opinion about the clothing of the men.  Let’s be clear, men here are not required to wear anything in particular, however many of them wear what is referred to as a Thobe.  In my opinion, a close second to seeing a man in rugged outdoor ware is a man in a clean pressed suit.  A crisp collar and starched shirt are enough to convey a certain message.  Although not all of the men in Thobes that I see cruising around town keep their garment this tidy, but some definitely do.  The floor length, white, creased shirt (of sorts), is a departure from Western-ware in a big way, but here the cleanliness of it is a sign of success and respect for one’s self and one’s culture. 

Although having just returned to Saudi, two weeks later we were on the road again for New York City to spend a few weeks and then later to Rome, Italy.  I spent some time in Rome in 2005 with a very good friend of mine, but this time around I was more struck by the city.  Maybe it was a little bit of age, or a having little more insight about these opportunities, but I found it even more enchanting this time around – the language, the architecture, the food…they sure know how to treat a lady.

--C. Sims