Day 59: Will I turn into a butterfly?

21.6.09 - I don’t want to worry anyone too much but I think I’m going through a TRANSFORMATION…

Imagine a fish that’s been taken out of water and discovers that it can not only breathe but fly too. That would be quite a life changing experience. And in some obscure way, this is how it feels.

It’s amazing how quickly we’ve adapted to life in Saudi. London already seems a distant place, and our life there a blurry-around-the-edges memory. We are in the minority but we really enjoy living here. Everything is so completely different, it has caused a healthy shake up of... well just about everything. My beliefs, my creature comfort habits, my routines, my grand views of the world, preconceptions. Everything challenged.

And this complete change of scene, away from everything and everyone I know, makes me see my life in a new light. And I find myself keen to reconsider what I believe in, and how I want to live.

I’m shedding some of my western thinking and aspirations. And slowly but surely peeling away the layers created by my fairly insular life in West London. I’m determined to engage with this fascinating country with an open mind and unbiased eyes. And I’m finding that despite the frustrations, living here is bringing about some healthy changes, and is proving to be the adventure we were hoping for. So I thought I’d write a little tribute to the things I love about being here, while the feelings are still fresh:

I love the fact that I’m somewhere so completely different and my life has been turned upside down and inside out.

I love it that it’s unpredictable here and full of contrasts and contradictions. And that you can take nothing for granted.

I love the fact that we are, in effect, living in one big oasis in the middle of the desert. How exotic is that!

I love knowing that a weekend outing could be a visit to the camel market down the road or a trip to a posh mall, full of women in black and men in white.

I love the dry dry heat, sometimes unbearable, always relentless, but from dawn to dusk, every day of the week, it’s sunny, bright and hot. I love that the bathroom is never damp and that clothes dry in minutes.

I love it that we take cover from sandstorms here, rather than rain.

I love our simpler and slower life, and our still many empty cupboards.

I love the sense of community, and being so close to so many interesting people.

I love it that we have money left at the end of the month.

I love the fact that I have time to myself (a lot spent on reading), and the mindset to be awed and inspired by some amazingly good books.

I love that, just like that, you can meet a Prince, and just like that, you’ve got a job! Which bring me onto the no-small-matter of my meeting with the Prince.

Preliminary preparations for the meeting involved sorting out childcare (a team effort between my maid and a friendly neighbour), the purchase of a pair of decent looking shoes to match my Abaya (ie. black), transport (pre-booking of a taxi to take me there and back) and swotting up on dos and don’ts. For this I didn’t do too well and was only able to gather that I should address him as Your Highness. I decided that I would pick up the rest by observing my friend S, who had met him several times.

I met S at her shop, and from there we made our way to the Prince’s office with another expat lady involved in the project following behind. In this unusual country, where few streets have names, and street numbers don’t really exist, finding your way round is at best challenging. Everyone has a PO Box number, but postal addresses don’t really exist. There’s no such thing as a A to Z or detailed city map . This causes endless challenges, and has a huge impact on every day life.

To give you an example, here’s how a simple event like ordering a t-shirt online for Dirk’s Birthday turns out to be a rather convoluted process. I’ll spare you the whole payment phase which involved multiple emails with the t-shirt provider and going in person to the bank to handover some cash to be transferred to the supplier. Once the payment had cleared the t-shirt was despatched from a neighbouring city by special delivery (equivalent to DHL). I did wonder how it would get to me as our compound doesn’t have an address, just a PO Box number. But I decided not to worry about it and let things take their course. 24 hours later, I get a call from a Saudi Mail delivery driver, asking where I live, and no he doesn’t know Eid compound and he wants to know if it’s a hospital, and can I give him directions. Now, imagine trying to describe how to get to a place if most streets don’t have names, then add to that the language difficulty, and that I have no sense of direction anyway. One of the directions for our place is to take Pylon Road, this is an unofficial made up name because it’s a road with… yes you’ve guessed it… lots of pylons. But I’m pretty sure there are other roads in Riyadh with lots of Pylons… anyway, I could feel my stress levels simmering, and decided to get help. I asked for the Saudi Mail driver to call back in five minutes so that I could find a compound worker who spoke Arabic and would be able to give directions. A friendly receptionist agreed, and I waited in reception for about 30 minutes but no call came so headed back home. The driver rang back a few hours later, and this time I didn’t want to risk losing contact so I asked the driver to wait and sprinted back to reception (in the scorching mid forties heat) with the Saudi driver on hold, praying that he would have the patience to wait, and hoping that Dirk wasn’t noticing any of this, and handed my phone over to the receptionist who provided the necessary directions. All seemed to be OK and I made sure the driver understood the parcel was a very important gift for my husband (I almost said Birthday but quickly remembered that is not an event celebrated under Islam and not wanting to incur unnecessary wrath from my only link to my one and only present, I thought it better not to mention it) and the driver confidently assured me he would make it to us later that day. But it never turned up.

The following morning, I get a call from… another Saudi Mail delivery driver, who speaks no English this time, asking where I live…. Aaaaaaaaaaaargh. Not sure what happened to the driver from the day before, but it looks like I’m back to square one. So I run to reception again and hand over the phone. The receptionist doesn’t bat an eyelid and repeats the directions from the day before. By this stage, I wasn’t very optimistic the parcel would ever turn up (buy it did, and Dirk loves the t-shirt!).

The lack of proper addresses I imagine must affect the entire internet industry here. It also affects where you meet people and how you conduct business. The British School’s web designer doesn’t have an address to put on his business card, he runs a service business from an office with no address. It’s crazy. So he always comes to the school for meetings as we couldn’t get to him. Major roads in central Riyadh do have names but no street numbers so a restaurant might be described as being close to the junction between x and y streets. That’s as good as it gets. When we first arrived and were going round visiting compounds, we’d have to phone the compound en route, we’d pass our phone to the driver, and the compound people would direct our driver, real time, to the compound gates.

So here we are, in my friend’s shop, ready to go. She’s the only one who knows where the Prince’s office is (surprise surprise, it doesn’t have an address) so we jump into her car and before we know it we arrive at a large mansion in a residential looking area. We drive around the outer walls, past a couple of gates, until we get to an open one and we drive in. It’s all rather low security. As we made our way in, I wondered if this place was the Prince’s home (it was big but rather modest looking for a Prince) but when I mentioned this to my friend, she scoffed and said that he used this mansion as his office, and that he lived in a palace in the outskirts of Riyadh. That’s more like it!

There are many Princes in Saudi but I gathered that he was an important one with close family ties to the King. So quite an honour to meet him. And not something that you’d want to mess up! The whole thing was starting to feel a little surreal, here I was, a girl from nowhere, an infidel no less, fresh off the boat, parachuted into this mansion slash office, to discuss an internet project.

So here we are, walking down a long corridor. We are ushered into the Prince’s office by his friendly female assistant who shock horror, was not wearing an Abaya (he must be very liberal) and waited for the great man to make his appearance.

Finally, it was happening, I was to about to meet my first Prince.

He didn’t make us wait long and ten minutes later, he makes his entrance. I try not to stare but I discretely (I think) have a good look at him and he looks well, very normal! No lavish robes, large items of jewellery or flamboyant accessories. He is wearing a simple white thobe, his head is bald and bare, and he is neither dashing nor regal. But he does command attention, and he confidently marches in, and politely greets us.

As I was sitting there, all senses on alert, observing, listening, taking in the surroundings, the Prince, his tone, his appearance, thinking about how to hold myself, and hoping he would just ignore me for a while, just while I got my bearings, I heard the Prince respond to my colleague’s comment about the nice smell in the room. “oh, that’s incense I bought from Zara Home!”, he said, and from that moment, I knew that everything was going to be OK.

Indeed the Prince is a down to earth and charismatic person, with a great sense of humour (he printed out an article for us listing Saudi as the 3rd worst country to work in), he is educated in the UK and mixes with many Westerners so has a balanced view of the world, he is well travelled, thoughtful, and above all a great story teller. He talked about many things: the price of pure incense (thousands of dollars a gram), his charities (he is involved in many), his grandfather who was one of the first royals given permission to leave Saudi for an exploratory trip, his education, his love of good food (he showed us his super well equipped open plan kitchen which he is very proud of and even Gordon Ramsey would approve of, and this is not even his home), his health (he wants to take up salsa to loose weight!) and Saudi life a hundred years ago. In fact we talked very little about business, but I think that’s how things work here, you build relationships first, then you get down to business.

My hard work paid off, and I managed to make it through the two hour meeting without a dreaded cultural ‘faux pas’. I was careful to show respect at all times (even when given a weird hand made wooden acorn as a small gift), and not to make too much eye contact (not allowed under Islam) which by the way is very awkward. Trying to listen to someone without looking at them. I found it almost impossible to concentrate on what he was saying if I wasn’t making eye contact. Staring at the carpet didn’t help either. And when I was talking (and he was looking elsewhere or worse just blankly into space), I also find it disconcerting always wondering if he was not interested or just being polite.

Well to cut a long story short, I had a second meeting with the Prince and 5 or 6 other expat women all loosely involved in the project, we talked business and they agreed to the budget I had put together for the launch of the website, including a daily rate for my time. So I’m now officially a paid consultant, and Head of Operations for Women’s Skill Bank!

Since then, I’ve interviewed a male Filipino web designer, which in itself is not straight forward as women are not allowed to meet alone with a man who is not related. So I was advised to meet in the lobby of a top international hotel where foreigners often conduct meetings and was usually left alone by the religious police. Well I pitched up and I was the only woman, and all the other men except for two were Saudis. The web designer, who is a baker by day (cakes are his speciality) and an IT man by night (and by training and background), also looked a bit jumpy. But I tried to ignore all that, and forget about the story of the British lady who was arrested in Starbucks for having coffee with a male work colleague recently, and focus on the task at hand; briefing the designer and assessing whether he was the man for the job. I was a bit taken aback when he said he could have this rather complex project done in a few weeks, and would I like to see a demo next week. It’s all action here, none of this project scoping and planning business. And why bother with documentation? He turned out to be a man of his word and has indeed produced an impressive demo of what we needed within a week. So he’s got the job!

This project is keeping me comfortably busy, mostly working from home, and not interfering too much with my reading, pool time with children, overseeing my maid, and chit chating with friends! So I figure I’ve got the work life balance thing pretty well cracked. Who thought it would be this easy to do over here.

Books I’ve read:

Eat Pray Love, by E. Gilbert (brilliant)

Three cups of Tea, by G. Mortenson (even more brilliant)

Reading Lolita in Tehran, by N. Nafisi (intellectually demanding and rewarding)

Only in Saudi’s press:

40 year old divorces wife over wrong call

JAZAN: A 40-year old man divorced his wife for answering a telephone call from a man who had mistakenly called her, a Saudi newspaper reported. After the wife received a call from someone who had got the number wrong, the husband snatched the phone and shouted at the man who then hung up. The husband then tried ringing the man but found the phone switched off. The husband then began accusing his wife of having a relationship with the man, In turn, the woman tried to convince him that this was not the case. Unconvinced, the man immediately divorced her and sent her to her parents’ home.

Published in June 09 in the Arab News newspaper

For my full blog and previous postings go to http://mysaudistory.blogspot.com

Day 40 - Oh by the way, on Sunday, I'm meeting a Prince

2.6.09 - This morning I had an exciting outing planed.  I was to meet a very interesting lady, an American, married to a Saudi, who runs her own business here. And she kindly agreed to have coffee with me at the famous Kingdom Mall, an exciting destination in itself. There are hundreds of malls here, but this one is special. First it is located at the base of a stunning awe-inspiring building, the tallest in the country and an architectural masterpiece (if I may say so myself – but see photo and decide for yourself). Second, it is, to my knowledge, the most luxurious mall in the country (think Chanel, Moschino, Armani, so not for the faint hearted or light weight spenders) and thirdly it is the only mall to have a women’s only floor. This is the bit I was particularly interested in. It’s quite a big deal because it means that no men whatsoever are allowed on this floor. All the workers therefore are female (I hadn’t seen any women work outside a compound in the whole of the 6 weeks we’ve been here, even frilly lingerie stores and glamorous beauty counters are attended by manly men. Weird.)

Kingdom Tower

Add to all that, the excitement of leaving the compound for reasons not involving school or going to the supermarket and you can see why this was no ordinary day.

So I decided to get an early start, and gave myself plenty of time for traffic, road side accidents, taxi not turning up, getting lost, getting stopped by the Muttawah, etc.

Well as it turned out, everything went smoothly and I arrived fresh as a daisy. But only to find everything shut. Well the mall was open, but none of the shops were. I’m quite used to that now. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve turned up somewhere only to find that everything was shut. 

I have figured out that the opening hours here are GENERALLY 9am to 12pm, and 4 to 11ish pm. HOWEVER, there are 6 big daily prayers which means everything shuts for about 20 minutes, 6 times a day. And to add to the confusion, the prayer times change slightly every day. The advice is: wherever you go, bring a good book.

Coffee shop in a mall

As it turns out, the shops in this mall open slightly later than other malls so I decide to go and look for the ‘Ladies Floor’, locate the coffee shop we’re meeting at and generally have a bit of a nose around. I find a lift that says ‘Women Only’, and figure that has to be a good start. I press the button that says ‘Women Only Floor’ which ends up being just one level up. The doors open and I see a sign saying that all face should be uncovered for ‘security reasons’ and I also see a couple of female security attendants, NOT wearing an Abaya (first time I see a woman wearing normal clothes outside of a compound). Their job is to prevent men from sneaking in. A man was arrested recently for disguising himself as a woman! He was wearing an abaya and niqab (face cover) and was trying to get into a mall (single men are not allowed in malls).

I do a little tour, past Saks, past Debenhams, past the woman’s only bank, and notice there is no view downwards, and the floor is well shielded from prying eyes from the lower floors. But I’m surprised to see that all women (apart from the workers) keep their abaya on, and some even wear their niqab. I don’t understand why. This is a completely safe environment without a man in sight. But I’m told that they are worried that someone might secretly take photos (there is indeed a sign that states no photography, specifically with mobile phones).

Nevertheless I try not to stare at the few women that have taken off their niqab. So far, all I’ve seen of Saudi women were eyes (if lucky, many cover themselves completely, and wear black gloves and socks, literally there is not a micro millimeter of flesh showing). The only women I’ve seen out of an abaya are the ones on the compound, at school or on this floor. But they are not Saudis. They are all foreigners. So it’s quite weird to have been here six weeks and not seen a single female Saudi face. I notice that the women (looking discretely sideways) wear quite a lot of make up but it’s not ostentatious, and it’s done in good taste.  But I do also see a Saudi woman walk past who looks a bit like a punk (my first female Saudi rebel), and another that looks like a boy (very short hair – perhaps another rebel). But overall the women I see are good looking, elegant and very well groomed. Just like me then, hum… With my un-manicured hands, al fresco dried hair, 10 second morning make up ritual, cheap sunglasses and gem-free earlobes. I feel like a granola bar type. Natural in an unattractive way! But as I said before, I am NOT VAIN, so I focus instead on my impending chat with my interesting lady.

She arrives a little while later and we start talking about life here, how to find out about what’s on (very little is published for fear it will be visited/closed down by the Muttawah) and her business (she organises children’s parties, on a big scale, and sells party accessories). She set up her business 15 years ago because she wanted to remain independent, both financially and emotionally, and she tells me about the challenges of running a business here (all her 25 staff are male, and strictly speaking she is not allowed to go into HER office or HER shop, but she still does of course). The problems with customs. Sometimes her shipment gets through, other times not. They recently confiscated an entire container of party accessories because they had “Happy Birthday” written on them. Islam doesn’t recognise Birthdays and they are not generally celebrated. Even though she speaks fluent Arabic, is married to a Saudi and has lived here for over 30 years, she still finds it hard to run a business.

I tell her how I hope to start another business one day, but in the meantime think I should use my skills and find some internet related work, in an advisory or consulting capacity. That’s when she mentions ‘THE PRINCE’. He’s been looking for someone like me! And before I know it, there is a meeting set-up. It all happens in the space of a few hours. Things happen either very slowly or very quickly here (or not at all), but nothing much in between.

So it’s confirmed, I am to meet HRH Prince ‘A’ (name abbreviated just in case the Muttawah are following my blog!) whom I have been assured is a true gentleman. He sounds particularly interesting because he has launched a new initiative called Women’s Skills Bank. A project which aims to bring together employers and skilled women, often expats, seeking work. I am quite fascinated that a Saudi man should initiate such a project and it certainly challenges my preconceptions that men here prefer women to stay at home. I am being introduced because he is looking for someone to help them launch a website and apparently I have the right credentials.

I’m trying to be cool about it but I’m actually VERY EXCITED. I know there are many royals here, but nevertheless, a private meeting with a Prince is no small matter, and whilst I strive to be modest in my endeavours, this is not something I intend to keep to myself!

I now have some preparations to make prior to the meeting. I have no idea about royal etiquette here (being only acquainted with British etiquette – yeah right), I’m not sure how to address him, do’s and don’t’s etc. It’s not exactly easy information to come by and my contact is not forthcoming. Yikes.

I do know some of the basic rules: it’s rude to show the soles of your feet (that shouldn’t be a problem!), to point, and to take things in your left hand. I’m pretty sure that I won’t have to leave the room walking backwards… But beyond that…

Also, I have childcare problems, I’ve heard that Saudis are not exactly punctual, and royals well, they are in a different league and so I have no idea if the meeting will start on time (probably not) and when it will finish. I have to plan to be gone the whole day just in case. But don’t have anyone to look after Rosalie after she finishes nursery. And I haven’t been given the meeting place yet. (hopefully his palace!). At least I won’t have to worry about what to wear (Abaya is the only dress code here). And I know I won’t be expected to wear the Niqab (I don’t have one anyway). I’ll need to buy some new shoes (my £10 black pumps have seen better days). And my trainers, well, let’s not go there.

My next posting will no doubt be after the meeting. Wish me luck. 

***For full blog go to www.florencehughes.blogspot.com***

Day 28 - An unexpected kiss

21.5.09 - Have just come back from a cultural outing en famille. We decided to break out of the compound today to visit an old fortress. This is not a decision one takes lightly and it needs planning. 

First, timing is key, it's not a good idea to venture anywhere outdoors in the middle of the day, midday heat now reaching high forties in the shade, and if out of the shade, you really can't expect to last more than 5 -10 minutes (especially with children and poor me in Abaya) before lethargy, thirst and ultimately sense of panic sets in. As a result, most things shut between 12 and 4pm. So we decide that early morning would be the best time to go and make it out of the house around 9.30am, which gives us 2.5 hours before next prayer time, and subsequent closure of all commercial activities.

Then there is transport. We don't have a car yet (waiting to get bank account sorted out), we tried renting a car (didn't have right kind of driving license), we tried getting a compound taxi (all booked up) and there is no public transport. So, the only option left is to take the compound courtesy car to outer gates (about half a kilometre away), and wait in little air conditioned room while Dirk walks up to main road and hails a taxi. Luckily we're heading to a well known part of Riyadh so no need for instructions. Very few roads have names here, and street numbers don't exist. From experience, when hopping into a taxi, we now secretly pray for 3 things: 1. they have seat belts (only 20% seem to have them), 2. they speak english (about 80% speak a smattering) and 3. they know how to get to where you want to go (very hit and miss). The common way of dealing with the latter, is to call up your destination when en route (eg. restaurant) and then pass the phone to the driver who can be guided by phone until you reach your end point. Even that doesn't guarantee you will get to where you want to be!

And there is information, or the lack of it. Practical info such as places to visit, opening hours, directions, safety, etc, is hard to come by. Very little is available online and the little that is (often on expat sites) often out of date. We found in a publication the opening hours for the Riyadh Zoo, and were bemused to see that Mondays, Wednesday and Saturdays were men only days, and other days are women only days. Which means we could never go as a family. And I couldn't even go alone with the children as Seb is 10, and considered to be a man. No idea if this is enforced, or even up to date. So typically, you'd need to pitch up, and find out when you are there.

So no wonder most people stay on compound. 

Anyhow, we've long ago decided that we would embrace this country, with all its quirks, intriguing customs and unpredictability. 

We decide to head off to Musmak Fortress. The info we have suggests that it is open, and that today is a family day (ie. not a men only or women only day). It's a good start. We're dropped off a little way away (not sure why) and make our way through a huge square, surrounded by elegant government buildings and the odd palm tree. We notice a bunch of men are hosing down part of the square and realise that this must be Chop Chop Square. Yikes! however we see no sign of blood, and can only imagine (or try not to) what might have happened there that morning.  

When we travel, we like to try and mingle with locals and whilst we've no hope in h**l of blending in, we do enjoy doing as they would. We spot a small old fashioned coffee shop with a handful of men, in full attire (thobe and head gear), in serious discussion, drinking from little cups, looking quite stern (a Saudi speciality). No women or children in sight. And this is always the dilemma. What's acceptable behaviour? We'd like to sit down, but we're not sure if it would cause offense or break any rules. But the rules are unclear, often unspoken and mostly undefined. Women are not seen in public very much, and very rarely alone. Most places have separate sections for men and women, or closed off family rooms. Definitely, a Saudi family or husband and wife would not come here. But as westerners, it's hard to know what you can get away with, without causing offense. 

To add to this, we're right next to the "Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice" head office. A very very serious affair. This is where the Muttawa (the religious police) are groomed. They are the ones that will come and tell you off if you are showing too much flesh for example (a bit of ankle, the top of your head, that kind of shocking behaviour). We've heard many tales, but the only encounter we've had with them so far was when we were in a taxi, Dirk threw his cigarette butt out of the window. A Muttawa in a neighbouring car pointed at the cigarette butt and shook his finger, looking fierce. Apparently they have little power, unless they are accompanied by a policeman. Still, you should never never argue with a Muttawa. Power or no power, they can be very nasty, I'm told. 

Dirk decides to go in and ask if it's OK for us to sit at one of the tables outside, which it is. We say we'd like to have 'what they are having' and sit ourselves around a little table. Meanwhile, an old man dressed all in white, is making his way towards us. He's holding a briefcase and appears quite respectable. As he reaches us he gives us a big smile (half his teeth are missing) and bends down to kiss Rosalie (who look horrified and runs off), so he proceeds to bend down again to kiss Oliver (lightly on the lips) and then Sebastian (also on the lips). Seb is absolutely horrified, but I'm pleased he manages to remain polite and respectful throughout this strange, rather off-putting moment! For a split second I'm worried he's going to do the same to me but I'm spared and he serenely walks off. Seb spends the rest of the day wiping his lips, and claims his feeling ill. Such a drama queen. 

The coffee arrives in a charming gold teapot with a long beaker, as well as some tiny drinking bowls, a dish of dates and a small bowl of water for finger rinsing. We examine the teapot and find a small knot of wool stuck in the opening. We pull it out and wonder why it's there. The smell of the coffee is wonderful, a rich spicy coffee smell, with lots of cardamon. We pour it out and find little 'bits' floating in the coffee. We think it's the cardamon, or some other spice and realise what the little ball of wool is for, acts as a filter. Simple but clever. The coffee tastes bitter and is not quite 'my cup of tea!', but if you take a bite of date, then a sip of coffee it kind of works. Still, one small cup is enough for me. The children try it out with varying degrees of success, and Seb spills most of it on his lap. He's still going on about the horrible man without teeth who kissed him, and now he's scalded himself. No need to say, he'd much rather be at the pool with his friends. Cultural outing? Going to see an old building again? Big sighs. He quickly cheers up when we get to the gold souk and his eyes are popping out at the sight of all the jewellery. He can't believe they are all real, and he is making complicated mental calculations as to what it could all be worth. 

Spicy Coffee Stop

The Fortress is stunning from the outside, and we decide to be brave and take some photos (photography is illegal in Saudi, but it's so photogenic we can't resist). We wonder how to get in as there are no signs of any kind. We approach a huge door (seb is convinced he can see eyes looking at us from the other side) and knock. No response. We find a bell, and ring. And old man opens the door, takes one look at us (at this point we're looking rather wilted, we're hot, bothered and keen to get inside) and shakes his head. Someone translates his words, "closed for maintenance". We see a few other westerners come out... We argue our case (we've come a long way to see the fortress) but no go. He won't budge, or smile. Dirk is getting annoyed. I'm resigned. That's how it is here. Unpredictable. 

Trying to get in

Musmak Fortress - Central Riyadh

After a 'fresh juice' stop, another divine lemon and mint for me, we make various random impulse purchases from the souk: 

 - 6 mangos bought for £2 from a man with a wheel barrow and very high pitched voice (we wonder what's wrong with him), we don't even bother haggling, it's so cheap, and he's obviously quite poor

-  a cheap plastic pram for Rosalie (there I decide to haggle, the man says £10, I say £2, he says OK) 

- cool jeans for Seb for his 'rap' performance at school (I try to haggle, the man says no, I walk off, he doesn't come running after me, I send Seb back to pay asking price)

- and school shoes for Oli - but the Imams are calling, prayer is about to start, shops are closing all around, (they can be severely fined or emprisoned for doing business during prayer time), so there's a rush to find the right size, at this point any size that might more or less fit will do, and we quickly pay our £8 before dashing out. 

We hail a taxi (no seatbelts so we wave him off), try another (he's got most of them) and head home, to our usual double taxi sequence. 

By then, we're desperate for a swim, I'm fantasizing about a cold coke, Seb thinks he's going to throw up, Rosalie has fallen asleep in my arms, and Oli is scratching his mosquito bites. Dirk in the front stays cool as usual. 

And so our 2 hour outing comes to an end. And we return to our sanctuary with great relish.

(Note: please email me on florence@hughes.co.uk if you wish to be notified when a new post is published)

Day 23 - I should be working

25.5.09 - I should be working and I'm blogging, again. I have actually something important to do today, which involves using my brain. Might explain why I haven't started...

Most women (well all the ones I've met so far) have come here because of their husband's job. And, one has to admit, there is not a huge amount to do here as a woman, beyond the pool and various leisure activities on the compound, and going to shopping malls (which are plentiful and varied, but still). There are lots of coffee mornings on offer, at other compounds, and a fair amount of socialising. For many, this is an attractive life, and very satisfying. But if you want to escape, as I do (and a few others), the expat bubble, you need determination and a bit of good luck. The few women that do manage to break away, turn to teaching. There is a huge demand for english speaking teachers, some schools don't even require any qualifications. And of course the hours make it easy if you have children. I could turn to teaching, I was in fact informally offered a job (I speak english and look respectable, that was enough). And although I quite liked the idea (teaching 4 to 5 year olds, not too threatening) I really felt I should leverage my internet skills. Plus I liked the idea of being different.

My first opportunity presented itself  a couple of weeks ago when we received a note from school announcing the redesign of the website. I contacted the principal to find out if they needed help, and after a pleasant meeting, it transpired that they would welcome my input, and I felt certain I could add a lot of value by helping the school manage the project and their web agency. I was told that there was a real shortage of internet skills here, and whilst there were good programmers and designers (mostly Indian, Pakistani or Filipinos) they were weak in the areas of account/project management, communication (language and cultural differences) and strategy. I was encouraged to hear that my skills would be in big demand and was even told that I should I set-up my own business! So an encouraging start. Plus internet day rates here are some of the highest in the world... Very encouraging indeed. 

However now, for the first time in ages,  I have serious work to do. I need to look at competitors sites, review draft designs, digest the brief and prepare myself for a meeting with the web designer. Although I'm procrastinating, I'm actually quite excited, and ultimately hope to make a good impression and gain some references, to then move onto (highly) paid consulting work. Sounds simple enough...

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Day 23 - Our Monday, your Saturday

16.5.09 - It's Saturday here, which is the beginning of the week for us. Weekends in Saudi are Thursday and Friday. Takes a while (quite a while) to get one's head around it. Friday nights are now Wednesday nights, Monday mornings are now Saturday mornings. You get the picture. 

Last night with had an unexpected visit, a lovely South African couple from the villa opposite ours, who wanted to introduce themselves. She is 8.5 months pregnant with her first child, and refreshingly relaxed about her pregnancy and giving birth here. She was in fact more concerned about me! And wanted to assure me that I could go to her if I needed any help or had any questions. Her husband and Dirk are 'outdoor smokers' so often find themselves having a cigarette together. Next thing I know, they have brought over some of the famous but as yet unseen or tasted 'own brew', the latest batch we are told not as good as the previous. Nevertheless, I'm very impressed, it smells, and tastes just like r*d w**e. The method is so simple: yeast, grape juice and sugar in a plastic resealable container (large water container will do). The liquid needs to let air out but not in so a pipe is attached to the opening of the container and dipped into a jug of water at the other end. Leave alone for 3 weeks, et voila. Dirk can't wait to get going. After 3 weeks of alcohol free living, I can feel the pleasant effect of the drink after a few sips. Nice way to end the weekend. And adds a merry note to the routine of bath, teeth, story and bed. With the added steps of moisturising the children's skin as it gets terribly dried out and itchy, turning on air con and plugging in mosquito repellent device. By 8, the children are in bed, exhausted after hours of swimming. Dirk is skyping, and I tuck into a good book (Eye of the Needle). Another day gone, and it still feels just like a holiday. 

Day 22 - Chop Chop Square

15.5.09 - This week-end has been action-packed (by our standards). Early on Thursday (to get the most done before 12 o'clock prayer time), I was picked up by Marina (and her driver), and we headed to one of Riyadh's many Souks. Marina is Iraki, married to an English man, and they have lived here on and off for 11 years. She has a larger than life personality, and is a force to be reckoned, as I discovered later on. She had jewellery to sell and commission and so we headed off to Dirrah, the Gold Souk right next to 'Chop Chop Square'. This is where, I was shocked to find out, public executions still take place. Anyone can go, including children, and I've been told for some it's a family outing. The only rule: no photos.  Who would want to go and watch someone having their hands or worse their head chopped off I can't imagine, it makes me sick just to think about it, but foreigners do go, and are pushed up right to the front. I think the locals like to see if they will faint or not. However,  the crime rate in Saudi, is one of the lowest in the world. Food for thought. 

Chop Chop Square

Marina took me under her wing and I was quite happy to follow in her shadows while she busied herself with her various dealings. We stopped at a few jewellery stores, mostly owned by Arabs from Yemen (Yemenise?) all of which she knew by name.  She embarked on her negotiations, which I observed she handled with a powerful blend of humour, assertiveness, charm and patience, with a pinch of Diva-like behaviour. Quite amusing. But patience is key, and the negotiations can wear you down (that's the strategy). A deal can take hours (i'm told). And so it's highly recommended to come here 'off peak', ie. week-ends.  

Meanwhile, I was quite taken aback by the casual manipulation of various gems - rubies, emeralds, saphires, left lying on the counter, or casually picked up and carried away. Crime is very low here (thanks to Chop Chop Square) so there is literally no security, cameras, alarms, security guards. nothing. The stores are wide open and the atmosphere is very relaxed. There was much talk about Saudi Diamonds, and when one of the owners casually picked up from a display a diamond the size of a ping pong ball, my heart skipped a beat, surely not, this cannot be one I think it is, I know Saudi is a rich country and has many natural resources, but diamonds that big? Later, when I researched this, it turned out that Saudi Diamonds are in effect Crystal. Such a novice!

Marina and I having a snack in between Souks, 

blissfully unaware that I'm breaking the law by showing my ankles. 

Most of the things we saw - furniture, cloths, pashminas, jewellery, carpets, all seems to come from neighbouring countries. Apart from Rosewood furniture, and some of the gold, i couldn't find much that originated from Saudi which I found a little disappointing. But this is just one small part of a myriad of Souks, so I hope to go back and explore further. 

We made it back to the car just as 12 o'clock prayer started, and headed back to Eid (our compound) which involved the usual double car sequence, ie. we stop at outer security gate, get out and wait for compound car to take us in (only residents are allowed to bring their cars in). 

Day 18 - an easy life (warning you may not want to read this)

11.5.09 - Today, many things have fallen into place and I can't believe how easy life has become, compared to London and compared to the past few weeks. For all of you with children and/or stressful lives, you may not want to read this, or do, if you are thinking of moving out here. 

The children now take the compound bus to their school, it's free, there's a monitor on board who makes sure all the children are accounted for and are wearing their seat belts, and it departs at 7.30am, very close to our house so the children can walk to it alone. The children also take the bus back from school (which is also a great advantage as they finish at different times). Saving: compared to London I'm now saving at least 10 hours a week in school runs. I still find it strange to be pottering around the house and suddenly Oliver will appear, home from school. 

wave pool and slide - 30 seconds away

Rosalie now goes to the compound Montessori every morning 3 minutes walk away. It's well staffed, cost effective and she gets a chance to mix with lots of other children. Which means I have my mornings free, hurray! I collect her around 12 and we come back home, have lunch together and she has a snooze. 

If I need food, there's a little supermarket on the compound, one minute away, they have all the basics, and they deliver if I'm too lazy to carry. If there is a problem with the house, I just call maintenance with electricians, carpenters, plumbers, etc on tap to come and fix things, at no cost. They'll put pictures up, change plugs, service air conditioning units, etc etc. They turn up on a bicycle with their tool box mounted on the back and it's amazing what they can fix with a few simple tools.

When the children come back they do their homework (Seb has surprisingly little) and then they are off. They play outside, scoot around the compound, hook up with other children or we all go to the pool together which is 30 seconds away and is practically a private pool, a handful of people use it as there are many others dotted around the compound. The children are now friends with with some of our neighbours and people's doors are usually open, so we're in and out of each others houses. It's all very informal. I usually hang out at the pool playing with the children and chatting to other mums until Dirk comes back (around 5.30pm - he starts at 6.30am so it's a long day for him). We'll then head back to the house for dinner, or to someone else'shouse for a group dinner. 

view from our back door

Compound life is quite unique way of living, cross between a holiday resort and a gated community, a lot of the time is spent outdoors and this has many benefits. The children get plenty of exercise, they don't fight as much, they get to meet and play with other children (much more fun than playing with siblings), the house doesn't get dirty or messy nearly as quickly and you have company if you want it. 

Socialising and meeting people is effortless, everyone is relaxed, also keen to make friends and there is an interesting mix of nationalities and life stories. There are also many activities and outings on offer: Bridge evenings, parties, book groups, shopping outings, coffee mornings, cake sales, etc.  There's a gym on the compound, yoga and pilates classes, a bowling alley, tennis and squash courts, playgounds, and a huge wave pool with an impressive spiraling slide. All free. The rent (which is sky high due to shortages of accommodation on Western villas) includes the use of all the facilities. There's also a hairdresser, beauty salon, dry cleaning, DVD rental shop and restaurant. We've yet to use any of the facilities, we've been happy hanging around the pool so far.

We have a lady from the Philipines starting tomorrow who will do cleaning and ironing. Some people have full time maids, I drew the line at 3 half days a week. One day a week she'll cook us a Filipino meal. Saving: having a cleaner, and spending so much time outside probably saves Dirk and I about 20 hours of household chores a week. 

Before leaving, when I first talked to people about life in compounds, I was quite convinced it was not my type of thing. I would be bored, wanted more from life than hanging around the pool getting my nails done. But I am enjoying it thoroughly (have not had my nails done!), the simplicity of it, the easy socialising, the children's freedom and independence, the much reduced mindless chores, and I have so much more time and headspace.  It's peaceful here and hard not to enjoy.  I know that soon  I will want to add another dimension to my expat bubble, and hope to meet local Saudis, get to know their culture, and hopefully leverage my skills and experience to find interesting work. But for the moment it still all feels like a holiday and I'm making the most of it. 

Next posting: it's not all rosy here, and there have been and will be more challenges....

      

Oli has lost all inhibitions - jumping into 

our local pool, 15 seconds away

    

Seb, as mad as ever

Day 14: Paradise

7.5.09 - I’m in heaven, finally we’ve moved into our own place on a Western compound. No more dirty carpets, old plumbing, leaking taps and dark mosquito infested rooms. After 2 weeks in a run down serviced apartment, isolated, having to take taxis everywhere, to and from school, and everything in between, no one to talk to and nothing to do within walking distance. You get the picture. Our new home is heaven. Modest by Saudi standards but big by our London standards, we are relishing the bright spacious rooms, the cleanliness of it all, the 3 bathrooms, the taps that work, the abundant storage space, the feeling that we can start our new life. Within hours we’ve met some new friendly people, with invitations to shopping trips, coffee mornings and bridge. The central Noticeboard is covered with activities on offer, Pilates (yes please), Arabic for beginners (maybe), a Hummer 2 for sale (we’re very tempted) and lots more. 

Our lovely home, admittedly rather ugly on the outside, which is a shame because there is lots of impressive Arabic architecture around, is sparsely furnished with only bare essentials. So we decide to head off to get some bare essentials, plates, glasses, etc to get us through until our shipment arrives from London. And there is only one place to go to get that kind of thing, yes it’s Ikea. We grab a taxi and make our way to Ikea Riyadh, which is surprisingly similar to the London one, except for a few minor differences. Pricing is in Arabic (and gobbledygook to us), and only sporadically translated into English, and the restaurant is divided up into family rooms. This is quite common (even Starbucks have them) and it allows women to eat in privacy so that they can take off their head gear without god forbid another man seeing them. The food is delicious and we gorge ourselves on fresh salads (hard to come by), bottomless pepsis and freshly squeezed orange juice. There’s even a hot dog takeaway place at the exit, also serving shish kebabs, divided into two queues, one male and one female. As usual, we end up buying far more than our list, including a very large ironing board which we know is not going to fit in the boot of the taxi… But hey ho, that’s Ikea for you, it makes you do things you wouldn’t normally do!

Back at the ranch, which involves some complicated double taxi sequence, to get through the high security of our compound (normal taxis are not allowed to come into compound, so we have to drive up to the outside gate, take all our shopping out including very large ironing board, stand like right plonkers in the middle of the street, and wait for the taxi compound to turn up to take us through into our Western sanctuary).

Once home, we decide to head to the pool, 50 metres away. It’s amazing to be able to just walk out of our back yard, and within minutes be splashing around a pool. We notice some alcohol on a table nearby, a bottle of gin and some white wine. First time I see alcohol since I’ve arrived, although I haven’t missed it a bit. I can’t even tell that the alcohol-free beer has no alcohol, after a long hot day, it tastes just delicious. But clearly alcohol can be bought, illegally of course, and I’ve been told at great expense. It’s now 6.30pm, Dirk and I are lying on our deck chairs by the pool, the children are running around having fun, the sun is setting, the moon is coming up, we’re sipping our beers, and there’s a perfect warm wind blowing over our cold swimming pool soaked bodies. We can hear in the distance the call to prayer. This is our life now, and we’re loving it.

To finish off the day, I get a phone call, a maid who works for a few other families. Do I need her? She can iron, cook, clean, look after the children, for £4 an hour negotiable. Um, let me think about it…..