When I first arrived in Saudi the people I met all informed
me at one point or another that they had no friends who were, in fact, Saudi
Arabian. I suppose it made sense. Many Saudi people tend to stay close with
their families and consider their brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts and
uncles, and parents to be their circle of friends. It seems they’re not so motivated to meet new
people, because they don’t really need new people for friends. On the flip side, the expatriate compounds do
not allow Saudi born people into them.
Mainly because Saudi people are considered, as a whole, to have
conservative views and, well, Saudi-level conservative practices aren’t
typically the norm at compounds and these compounds would prefer Saudis with
conservative perspectives to not witness this in case complaints ensue. The same goes for expat events like parties
at embassies. Saudis aren’t allowed in
because conservative Saudis wouldn’t be happy with what they saw (No, there are
no orgies or cocaine snorting happening.
Well, not the ones I’ve been to anyway. There are just a lot of men and
women mixing and talking and not an abaya to be found.). This makes for a very difficult time if an
expat such as myself wants to meet people from Saudi Arabia. With no chance to mix with them and have a
proper conversation, I was limited to the odd smile (or at least smiley looking
eyes due to the niqab’s blocking effect) and maybe a word or two at the grocery
store.
Not meeting Saudi born people for myself bothered me. All I ever heard from so many people here,
especially when I first arrived, were negative things about Saudi
Arabians. They’re lazy, they’re angry
all the time, they’re judgmental, they have a sense of entitlement, they
mismanage everything, etc. etc.. But I craved
conversations with the local people. I
was super curious to know more about what they thought of all this. Maybe they could explain why so many expats
look at them this way. Maybe they could
give me a new perspective that crushed these opinions and showed me that Saudi
people are nothing like what those who haven’t met Saudis think of them.
Like always, if you’re a patient person, what you wish for
comes to you and I eventually began making Saudi friends. And they are fantastic. So fantastic, in fact, that I didn’t really
care to know what they thought of how other people viewed them. To be honest, I’m not even sure they care
about what other people think of them because these Saudi friends o’mine are
just too chill to bother wondering about those things. One cool Saudi and his friends stand out as
of late. His name is Hamza.
I was due to be working in Jeddah for about ten days. I would be there for a weekend so my friend,
Asam, got me in touch with Hamza who lived in Jeddah. Now, you have to keep in mind that, while my
Saudi born friends are really great and relaxed, as I mentioned earlier, there
are actually Saudi people who are super conservative or at least haven’t had
much experience outside of the conservative ways of the country. Makes sense, really. How else could the country still have laws
forcing women to wear abayas and not allowing women to drive and also place
cultural and societal pressures upon women to cover their faces if people
didn’t still agree with these ultra-conservative practices? So, when Asam (who is a male for those not
familiar with the name “Asam”) told me he had a male Saudi friend for me to get
in touch with I was a little apprehensive.
Male-expat to male-Saudi contact can be pretty normal, but put a girl into
the mix and conservative views, or even new-to-the-liberal-world perspectives
(picture a guy who hasn’t been around any girls outside of his conservative
family and then finally meets a girl who he is not related to and who happens
to be really friendly to him - it can become very awkward very fast) can get in
the way of a nice time. Asam assured me
that Hamza was not that kind of Saudi guy and so I sent him a text.
Wow, am I glad I contacted Hamza. Have you ever heard the phrase, “Necessity
breeds invention?” Hamza’s life is the
reason that phrase was created. He knows
how to have liberal fun in a conservative country (Sounds like an oxymoron,
doesn’t it?) and Hamza was more than happy to share his inventions with me in
an entire day of activities that he had planned. What was first on the itinerary Hamza put
together for Bonnie’s Oxymoronic Day in Saudi?
Going to the beach. Yes, I
wondered why we would bother with a beach visit considering I would have to
wear my abaya, in the sand, under the sun, with raging humidity. Hamza assured me, I could wear what I want at
this beach. It turned out Jeddah has
private resorts on the beach and we went to one. It was an adorable spot with a small sandy
beach that was sheltered in a small man-made harbour with high stone walls that
jetted far out into the water. Boats
couldn’t even come into the harbour if they wanted because there was a
significant sized reef at the end of the harbor that made the water too shallow
for a boat to get through. Add that to
the oodles of bright yellow signs with red writing severely stating “NO
PICTURES OR VIDEOS” and you have a beach where women who typically show very
little skin to very few people can be comfortable wearing a bathing suit if she
wanted to. That equated to me being
surrounded by men in everything from speedos to wet suits and women in
everything from full abaya and hijab, to burkini, to board shorts and t-shirts,
to one-piece swimsuits, to bikinis.
Me? I wore a bikini. Nothing subtle about this girl. Sand, sun, and a bikini in Saudi Arabia? Yes,
it is possible. Yes, I was happy.
I didn’t think my life could be any cooler than being at the
Red Sea, on a Saudi Arabian beach, in a bikini, and not worrying about some
Mutawa (religious police) getting red faced and belligerent in a major freak
storm. That was until Hamza pulled out
his shisha (some of you may know it as a hookah). It may be hard to believe, considering that I
have lived in Saudi Arabia for almost two years and on a compound where shisha
smoking is the norm for almost every resident, but I really hadn’t tried
smoking a shisha. Just like I say when I
tell people I hadn’t tried any illegal drugs until I was 22 years old, I just
wasn’t interested. It never occurred to
me to, as travel-book author Kristin Newman says, “Do the thing you’re supposed
to do in the place you’re supposed to do it.” Which, in Saudi Arabia, is to smoke
shisha. Luckily for me, Hamza not only
loves smoking shisha, he loves to teach people all about it.
I bombarded Hamza with questions about the shisha while he
set it up; where does the tobacco go; what is different about this tobacco and
cigarette tobacco (it’s just tobacco, no other crappy poisonous things mixed
in); why does the smoke smell so good (because dried fruit and herbs like mint
are mixed in with the tobacco); how does the charcoal make the tobacco smoke
without actually burning it (it sits on top of foil that sits over the tobacco
and heats it up, so it’s really just steam that you breathe in); how would we
incorporate smoking marijuana using this wonderful contraption (Hamza just
laughed at this question)? Finally he
had the shisha ready and handed me the long pipe, mostly to try the shisha out
but also possibly to stop me from asking more questions. I placed the tip gently on my lips like all
the people I’ve seen smoking shisha before me, and breathed in. It tasted like a minty fresh cloud had entered
my system and it was wonderful.
Apparently the flavour of tobacco we were smoking today was
grape-mint. A few more tips on the
smoking procedure from Hamza later and I was a regular shisha smoker and
thoroughly enjoying myself.
It was enjoyable not because there was any real effect on me
from the shisha smoke itself, but because of the whole experience. Shisha smoking is like drinking a glass of
red wine. The parts are greater than the
whole. Red wine in a plastic cup is a
waste of good wine. It needs the round
glass with the slender, long stem. You
need to see the redness of it swirling around, smell it as you bring it to your
lips, hear the delicate chink of the glass as you place it down on the table
while you gently swallow the tasty fermented grape and feel it create the
tiniest buzz of pleasure as it enters your belly. The whole process creates a feeling of peace
and refinedness. You feel a little more
special somehow.
Smoking shisha is like this.
At a restaurant you have a “shisha man” delegated specifically for all
things shisha. He brings this long,
skinny, multi-piece contraption with an odd shaped water-filled glass bowl at
the bottom and a ceramic cup containing the tobacco at the top covered in foil
with tiny holes in it. It sounds
ridiculous but it looks exotic and distinguished. The “shisha man” takes the pipe and attaches
the flexible tube end to the shisha and passes you the end with the long, stiff
pipe. Then you lean back in your chair, cross your legs, place the pipe gently
on your lips and breathe in, feeling the flavour of the tobacco emanate through
your mouth and into your lungs. It’s
almost sexual (at least for a girl). When
you breathe out you do it gently with a relaxed and open mouth and just let the
lovely smelling smoke leave your body in a wave that caresses your face. After a while the “shisha man” stops by,
carrying hot charcoal in a small, often intricately designed, metal bucket with
a long handle. You know he’s there
before you see him because you can feel the heat emanating from his bucket. He replaces the old burned out charcoal with
fresh pieces and places them carefully along the edge of the foil covered
ceramic bowl. It makes you feel cared
for and gives you a reason to smile and say thank you to someone on a regular
basis. It’s such a relaxing thing just
sitting back, breathing in tasty smoke from an sleek pipe. You feel like a “cool kid,” almost jazzy,
like an Arabian hipster but actually rad rather than pretentious. Like I said, shisha isn’t just smoking. It’s an experience.
Hamza took me shisha shopping for my own shisha later in the week. |
With that shisha experience under my belt it was time for me to meet another Saudi friend, a super cool guy and a good friend of Hamza’s. Hamza and I needed a place to get cleaned up after our day of sun, sand, and sea so he phoned his friend, Omar, who lived nearby to ask if we could use his shower facilities. Omar was not home, but as I was coming to learn, Saudi people drop everything to help a friend out, especially a friend who has a guest with him. So, Omar left whatever it was he was doing and came home to let Hamza and I rinse off the seawater and sweat we had bathed in all day and have a little visit. We arrived to find Omar waiting outside his apartment building in full Saudi attire: thobe, shmagh, agaal, and designer aviation sunglasses. There was a time when this outfit kind of freaked me out. I blame it on media bombardment back home creating a kind of Pavlovian effect and conditioning me to equate negative “stuff” with traditional Middle Eastern attire. Luckily, there is such thing as behavioural extinguishing, and living in Saudi shifted me from getting a little freaked by guys wearing this outfit to me thinking they can look kinda sexy in it. (Side Note: I plan on buying a few of these outfits to take home with me; maybe have a late night fantasy or two with any future boyfriends that come along. If anything, the clothes will be fun to have around for costume parties. I hope that doesn’t offend any of my Saudi friends. If it’s any consolation, I have an ulterior motive in that having friends wear the outfit will bring back fond memories of fun times in Saudi).
source |
source |
All cleaned up and feeling refreshed I settled in to one of
Omar’s sofas and chatted with the guys.
Let’s put this into perspective here.
We, all three of us, are single. We
even have to carry special ID cards called an iqama that, along with other
information, indicate our marital status for officials to confirm this. I am a female, Hamza and Omar are male. We are not on a compound. We are in Saudi Arabia proper, where
apartment buildings as well as sections in restaurants are designated as
“Single” and “Family.” Women are not
allowed in the “Single” areas. Single
men are not allowed in the “Family” areas. Me being present in a Saudi guy’s
apartment is something I had figured I wouldn’t experience, not because of not
being able to meet Saudi people, but because it just isn’t allowed. But, what the Mutawa don’t know doesn’t hurt
us, and so here I was hanging out at Omar’s and having a fabulous time talking
with my new friends. Hamza patiently
translated much of our conversation because Omar knows a small amount of
English and my Arabic is limited to about five words that are not in any way
useful for conversation (I am not proud of this). The guys asked me about my mountain biking
adventures which they may have regretted because, as any of my non-biker
friends who have gotten me on the topic of mountain biking know, I won’t shut
up about biking back home in British Columbia once I start. Many videos, exaggerated hand gestures, and
showing off of scars followed and then it was time to go shopping for
abayas. Yes, Hamza is so amazing that,
when I mentioned I needed a new abaya, he offered to take me shopping as part
of “Bonnie’s Oxymoronic Day in Saudi.”
One of my fantastic girl friends from Riyadh, Haya, has
frequented Jeddah on regular occasions and recommended a souq (market) that
would offer myriad abayas at fantastic prices.
Haya’s recommendation did not disappoint. I had talked about abayas in a previous post when I had an
abaya custom made. That was back when I
was new to Saudi and didn’t quite understand the importance of having multiple
abayas for multiple occasions. At this
point I had three abayas: the crappy one I bought in Ottawa before I moved to
Saudi and now used when I was bound to get dirty, like when visiting a camel
farm; the one I got custom made for me with my friend, Munira’s, help but then
realized it is WAY too fancy to wear as an everyday abaya but way too hard to
put on and take off when I’m dressed up for a formal event and have my hair
done (I had it made so that it goes over my head to put on…lack of foresight on
my part); and finally the one that I wear essentially all the time and is
functional but oh so NOT exciting or nice in any real way. Yes, I realize I just said that my shapeless
piece of black material that I put on my body to cover my womanly shape from
the piercing eyes of men is not exciting.
Stating the obvious, I know. But
the women here in Saudi know how to pull these abayas off with serious
style. I am enamoured with their grace
and class with which they wear them. I’m
even tempted to begin wearing my head scarf because that sucker actually pulls
the whole ensemble together. So, since
my new motto is to “do the thing your supposed to do in the place you’re
supposed to do it,” I wanted to rock this abaya thing and get some style mixed
in to this black wardrobe of mine.
And, in Jeddah, it is in fact possible to find an abaya with
style. I have heard Jeddah referred to
as the “Paris of Saudi Arabia.” While
it’s definitely not Paris, it is more relaxed than Riyadh and other parts of
Saudi I’ve visited and people have acceptance for individuality, especially with
how women dress. So I rarely see women
wearing the full-face covering niqab and there are always women walking around
with abayas of super cool designs and colours. I
wanted a blue one that gathers at the waist and makes me look elegant. I told Hamza this and he took it on as a
mission to help me find exactly that.
Keep in mind that I come from a small town where the guys I know work in
the forest or at a copper mine and ride mountain bikes and snowmobiles for
their entertainment. I grew up with a
coal-mining dad and my brother worked in the oil field. I can honestly say I have never met a guy who
likes to shop. Then I met Hamza.
source |
Hamza was the opposite of every guy I had ever shopped with
(unless I was shopping for bike parts).
This man actually likes to shop, and so the oxymoronic experience of my
day continued. He talked with the clerks
about what I was looking for and had them pull out one abaya after another and hang
them on display hooks. He held the abayas
open and helped me put them on; he adjusted the abayas on me and asked for new
sizes; before I could even veto the ones I didn’t like, Hamza stated to the
clerks “la” (“no” in Arabic) and re-explained what I was looking for; and when
I expressed that I liked something he said, “Whatever you like.” It was so much fun. We went to three abaya shops, even though I thought
an abaya I found in the first shop was very nice. Hamza wanted me to be sure and encouraged me
to go to more shops. Then a clerk pulled
out a lovely blue abaya covered in a simple and elegant lace with a drawstring
creating sweet gatherings of pleats around the waist. I put it on and heard Hamza say something in
Arabic that I didn’t understand but could tell it meant he greatly
approved. I looked in the mirror and it
really was exactly what I wanted. Before
I could even say so, Hamza had me take the abaya off after which he walked to
the counter, talked to the clerk, who put the abaya in a bag, and only then did
I realize that Hamza had just bought the abaya for me. He was expecting my protest and stopped me
when he said, “You deserve all of what I am doing for you and more. You are sweet and kind and have a bright
heart. Omar thinks so too. Please, this
is a gift that I want to give to you.”
Now that’s the best way I have ever been told to be quiet and say thank
you. Thank you, Hamza!
It didn’t end there.
Since I had gotten the perfect abaya as a gift I thought it wouldn’t
hurt to buy myself an abaya that was a little more extravagant. I had seen the Saudi princesses wearing
abayas that are made of tons of material, flowy, and only clasp at the top but
the excess material keeps things discreet; like a fabulously designed cape with
armholes. They looked so regal and I
wanted that. So, off Hamza and I went on
the search, in the same way we had looked for my perfect blue abaya. We went to five different shops and when I
found what I wanted I was really excited.
It looked so amazing when I walked around in it, flowing and moving in
the breeze my steps created, and it was such an indulgence for me. Hamza was delighted that I found what I
wanted and insisted he buy this one for me too.
This is where I paused and wondered. I had had an experience when I first arrived
in Saudi when a man was buying things for me and insisting on buying more. At first it was sweet and I thought he was so
kind for the help he was giving me. But
it wasn’t long before it became awkward and a little creepy, especially when he
was adamant about buying something he wanted me to wear that I had said I
didn’t want. “But you will look sexy in it.” he had said. I later discovered that this was the way men
in his society pursued women and I, not being aware of his culture’s flirtation
practices, didn’t pick up on it. It
ended up being a big reason why I lost my friendship with this person and I was
so sad about that. As you can imagine, I
was flashing back to this when Hamza insisted on buying my version of abaya luxury. Something was different about this situation
with Hamza, however. He was so sincere
in his generosity and seemed to find great joy in gift giving. He reminded me of my best friend, Malgosia,
who just loves finding something that her friends will appreciate and buying it
for them. Hamza also knew why I was
protesting - he understood my culture and how I wouldn’t be used to such grand
gestures of generosity - and so assured me that I could pay for anything else
that I wanted to get (except for anything at a restaurant, he insisted on that
being a gift to me as his guest as well).
And so, Hamza gave me my second abaya as a gift and I got to experience
the supreme generosity that is a sincere part of Hamza, and I believe part of
the Saudi culture.
We left the abaya souq with me feeling completely excited
about my new abayas and fully humbled to be in the presence of someone so
generous and kind. I was also starving,
as was Hamza. So to dinner we went where
Hamza paid and I abstained from protesting and instead expressed gratitude. Then Hamza happily told me he had something
else he wanted to show me. We drove to a
building in Jeddah where we ascended up eight floors to a rooftop
restaurant. I was tempted to ask Hamza
if he had been scrounging around my psyche because it seemed he must have known
of my love for eating and lounging al fresco and how sad it made me that, in
Riyadh, there were minimal restaurants (outside of compounds) to sit al fresco
and feel the openness of the outdoors while socializing. Even worse, the family sections of
restaurants actually have each table sectioned off into curtained or walled-in
rooms. This, to me, defeats the purpose
of going out to eat. In my opinion, if
we’re going to go somewhere to eat where we’re inside a room and cannot people
watch and gain a sense of existing amongst fellow human beings who are not our immediate
friends and family then we might as well stay home and order food in.
So, when Hamza and I stepped out of the elevator and onto
the rooftop patio I was elated. We were
seated at the wall where we could look out over Jeddah and see it’s nighttime
skyline. Soon a shisha was by my side
and drinks (non-alcoholic of course; Hamza had been making this day atypical of
my usual life in Saudi, but he was not a miracle worker) were ordered. I was contemplating how fantastic my day had
been when two of Hamza’s friends showed up.
Saad (pronounced “sa-ad,” not “sad” as in unhappy), a smiling guy who works
at the airport and likes to help his friends get extra baggage onto their
flights even if it means he gets into trouble (are you seeing a pattern of generousity
amongst these Saudi folk? I know I do). Zayna, Hamza’s other friend, is completing
her Masters in Biochemistry and works at the hospital when she’s not studying. I wanted to talk more with her about her
research but our chatting about the fun I had during the day got in the
way. Zayna and Saad were followed
shortly after by Omar, no longer in his traditional Saudi attire but still as
friendly as before. We all quickly got
to talking and laughing. I watched the
guys carry-on with each other, as guys tend to do, and tease Zayna making her
sweet spirit shine through her smile. Through
lots of Arabic, Hamza encouraging those who could to speak in English, and me
testing out the few words I knew in Arabic, we chatted and laughed and I
discovered new and wonderful friends.
Enjoying the rooftop |
You would think I would end my blog post there but Hamza
just continued on with treating me to another happy surprise. Earlier in the evening, during my mountain
biking conversation with Hamza and Omar, I had talked about my best friend,
Megan, and how she had been the one to introduce me to the biking world. I had told them how much I missed her, and
even more than usual on that day because it was her birthday. Hamza took note of this and made an
arrangement with the wait-staff at the rooftop restaurant. So, just before our already fantastic evening
was ending, I heard a pop-rock version of the “Happy Birthday” song playing
over the sound system and noticed the entire wait-staff bouncing over to our
table with a sparkler burning bright on a piece of chocolate cake with “Happy
Birthday, Megan!” written in chocolate syrup on it. Hamza arranged it so I could celebrate my
best friend’s birthday even though I was a world away from her. He recorded the
entire thing and I sent the video to Megan straight away. She was delighted. It was all so sweet and special and
unbelievably thoughtful.
Megan's cake |
So there we all were, on the Jeddah rooftop; me the
pale-skinned, blue-eyed Canadian chatting, laughing, and eating Megan’s
birthday cake with the kindest, friendliest, and most beautiful Saudis that I
had been supremely blessed to meet. I
couldn’t have asked for a better day and I have Hamza to thank for that.
In Joy,
Bonnie