Crazy Drunk Man with a Gun

So, tonight I was the last to leave the school after my evening class.  Usually there are a few girls still waiting for their drivers, but tonight, they had all left before me.  I was trying to remember how to say "I'm the last one" in Arabic to the guard to let him no it was safe for him to go in the women's section and lock up, so I was deep in concentration and didn't notice the crowds at first.  Then, one of my students who was already outside grabbed me and pulled me over into the crowd.  I saw a bunch of men gathered around one car, it looked like they were trying to calm someone down, but it was mostly just chaos so it is hard to tell.  I could see there was a broken back seat window and glass everywhere, and I thought, oh, big surprise it must have been an accident.

I asked one of my students (I think she was one of mine, it's hard to tell when they are wearing the niqab) if it was a car accident, and she said, no teacher - a gun!  I was so surprised.  For one thing, guns - apart from the ak-47s the guards have in front of compounds - are pretty much unheard of here.  For another, if someone has a gun, why on earth are we all crowded around trying to get closer?!  I didn't get the chance to follow up on that because I was being pulled further into the crowd by what I hoped was another one of my students.  I was close enough now to see that there were no bodies on the ground, so that was a good sign.  Just broken glass and some men shouting.  A woman turned around and asked me what was up in Arabic, and I half panicked.  I thought for a minute they were looking to me as the teacher and supposed authority figure here to do or say something.  I was completely unprepared to react, especially since I really didn't have any idea what was going on.  So I just stood there like an idiot, speechless.

As it turned out, it was just the mother of one of my students.   I can only assume she was in the car with the driver waiting to pick up her daughter when everything happened, and like everyone else, she had gotten out to take a look.  My student must have wanted her to meet me, so when she saw me, she just pulled me in.  It was an odd time to be meeting the parent of one of my students.   On the one hand, I felt I should be professional and friendly, on the other hand, there may or may not be someone with a gun less than ten feet away from me.  It's hard to make small talk in these circumstances.  We shook hands and I said it was a pleasure to meet her, which she didn't hear over the shouting going on around us.  I said it again a little louder and she nodded this time and gave my hand a little extra squeeze.  She may have been about to ask me something or say something else, but I will never know because we were being herded by some men in suits back into the building.  I had to wonder why our security guard, who from what I could tell wasn't doing anything but grandiosely narrating events like a sports caster, hadn't thought it smart to move all the women inside before now.

Inside again I asked the girls what had happened.  From the broken English and confusion, I was able to piece together the following scenario.  There was a small accident.  One of the drivers or a passenger of one of the drivers was drunk (this detail, even more than the gun, was the piece of information my students seemed to relish most in the retelling).  So there was an argument about whose fault the accident was, and suddenly the drunk man had a gun and was waving it around.  So some people who were watching called the police, and when the man heard the police were coming, he locked himself in the car, but oddly enough didn't drive away, he just sat in the back seat with his gun.  When the police came, he refused to get out, so they broke the glass on the window in the back seat and pulled him out and took him away.  This is where I came in.  I saw the broken window, and what I now assume were the other guys in the car with him yelling, and people all around trying to calm them down.  Eventually they all drove off, but I have no idea where they took the man or anything. I thought it was strange that I hadn't seen any police outside, so I asked the students about this.  They said that they weren't real police, just kind of like security guards.  This might help explain why on earth they would break a window and physically grab a guy who had a gun and could have easily shot anyone of them at any time.  I was trying to imagine a scenario where someone would say;
"Hey, that drunk man locked in the car has a gun!"
"Really?  Let's see if we can get the gun from him in the most violent and dangerous way possible!"   "Ok, hmmm.... I know, let's break a window and yank him out!"
"Yeah! He definitely won't try to shoot us if we do that!"
The only thing crazier than this would have to be the inner monologue of the guy with the gun:
"Wow, I really screwed up, I'm drunk, and I have a gun, and it's Saudi Arabia.  I guess I'll just lock myself in this car.  Yup, I'll curl up in the back seat of this car here, and have a good cry.  No point in trying to leave.  I'll just stay here.  In this car.  In the middle of the street.  While tons of people gather to watch these men break in my window... hey..."
I don't know, it doesn't make a ton of sense to me.  And maybe I haven't got all the details quite right, in fact, I'm sure I don't have all the details right.  Still it was an eventful night, and not just because of all the excitement about this man.  It was eventful for me because I could see how far the girls had come in just one month of classes. While we were all gathered in the front entrance of the school, waiting for our drivers to finally make their way to us from this chaos, the girls were all speaking English.  In their rush to be the first one to tell me what happened, they were throwing words around they never even knew they had learned.  They were spouting out irregular past tense verbs like champs.  The same group of women who four weeks ago couldn't even tell me that they had forgotten their book at home without a translator were suddenly giving me a blow by blow breakdown of what happened, and asking me what I thought of the whole thing.  It was amazing.  Sure, they weren't perfect, and sure, I didn't understand all of what they said, but tonight, these girls made the giant leap forward from learning English, to using English.  I couldn't be more proud.
So thank you crazy drunk man with a gun! You made my day.

Riding in the Desert

So, sadly, one of my friends and co-workers here will be returning to Canada for good at the end of the week.  To celebrate her last week in Saudi, we decided to go to the desert (some dunes near the beach) and ride four wheelers.  She has been before, and wanted to return to do it again and to take some photos and video of it to remember it by.  So three of us piled into a car with her usual taxi driver after work and headed off to Half Moon Bay.  Only, there was a problem.  Her usual driver had to pick up someone else at 3:45 and so could not take us to half moon bay.  So at a point midway between the University and her apartment, our driver pulls off the road and starts making phone calls and approaching randomly parked cars.  We all assumed he was looking for another driver for us, but it also kind of looked like it could have been a drug deal, though that is highly unlikely here.  We drove off again after five minutes and then a few minutes later, pulled in behind another car on the side of the road.   He indicated that this was our new ride and we swapped vehicles.

On the road once again, we decided to stop for a quick bite to eat at a grocery store that had an Indian food cafe and we ate chuppa, which is crumbled bread / chips, topped with spices and beans and then covered in yogurt and then three layers of different kinds of chutney and then parsley, some chilli peppers and then sprinkled on top some yellow crunchy stuff.  It was both delicious and filling.

We told our driver we wanted to go to Half Moon Bay and ride quad bikes, but our new driver was from India, and his English was very poor, as was his Arabic, so the few words we knew in Arabic for giving directions were useless.  Luckily, the other teacher who was with us is from India and they were able to speak together in Hindi.  After So we thought he knew where he was going, and we thought he new where he was going, but it turns out that no one was really sure where we were going because Rasheeda (the Canadian) was the only one who had been there before, and she couldn't really remember the way.   So we rode on for another 15 minutes, watching out the window for any sign of something familiar and hoping we were not lost.  It turns out, we weren't lost.  But when we finally saw the rows of quad bikes laid out waiting to be rented, it was too late to turn, so we made a lap to the next u-turn, and because it was on the other side of the road, ended up passing it again on the way back before we could do yet another u-turn and finally end up where we needed to be.

Sudanese workers who rent out bikes

There weren't many people around yet, just rows of bikes waiting to be taken for a spin and the guys who rented them.  Rasheeda is making a video blog, so we spent some time trying to get good footage of her talking with bikes in the background, unfortunately, the wind was making it hard to hear anything she was saying, so we gave up and focused on footage of the guys doing tricks on the bikes instead.  They were doing 360s and driving on 2 wheels and all kinds of crazy things.   I was anxious to try it, but I didn't think I would be wanting to do any crazy stunts.  We spent a while negotiating a price, but then finally settled on something reasonable, and Rasheeda and I each took a bike out while our other friend watched and took pictures.

The thing about these four wheelers is, there are only two speeds.  Stopped, and really fast.  The handle you pull to accelerate is calibrated to respond to the lightest touch and interpret it as petal to the metal.  While somewhat scary, it really isn't so bad on the straight aways and in the flat part of the desert.  But when you climb into the dunes, the sand is softer and choppier and you hit bumps and are constantly flying off the seat and holding on for dear life.  As we flew past a few people stuck in the sand trying to dig their four by fours free, I realized why slow speeds weren't a good idea.

Rasheeda checks out the horses

We drove our quad bikes into the desert a ways until we got to the horse and camel pins.  The horse handlers were all too happy to let us have a look, and encouraged us to ride the horses.  We had rented the bikes for an hour, so we told them we would finish our ride and then we would be back to see the horses again.  I was nervous about having the loud noises and sudden movement of the quad bikes so close to the horses, but they were clearly used to it and were unfazed when we speed off in the distance only a few feet from the horses.

We drove up and down the dunes, turning circles and trying to write letters in the sand with our tire tracks (unsuccessfully).  Suddenly Rasheeda came to a stop.  Her abaya had gotten caught in the wheel or something and pulled her neck and shoulders down.  She got it free, but it was ripped, and she had a pretty bad rug burn on her neck.  We both re-adjusted ourselves and tucked our abayas and scarves in well and under us to keep it from happening again.

Rasheeda and I drive through the desert

Funny thing though, when you are speeding across the desert, things don't like to stay tucked in.  It wasn't long before my hijab had slipped off my head.  It was wrapped around me a few times like a scarf, so I knew it wouldn't fly off, and it was so nice to feel the wind through my hair, so I wasn't in any real hurry to put it back on.  That is until a couple of guys in a pick up truck pulled up beside us and tried to practice the few phrases of English that they knew on us.  I recovered my head and we took off for another dune where there were more people riding bikes.  They would stare at us, which is why we had left for a less crowded area in the first place, but at least they weren't trying to talk to us.

It was while we were running from the guys in the pick up that Rasheeda's abaya got caught up in the wheel again, and this time it was really caught up.  Isn't it always the way?  Not that there is ever a good time to have your abaya get caught in the wheel, but having it get stuck when you are trying to avoid Saudi men heckling you is the worst timing.  Rasheeda never does anything half way, and so in true Rashida style, this abaya was thoroughly trapped.  To unwind it from the wheel, she had to take it off completely and then pass it through the the bottom and under the bike and around the axis a few times.  I'm sure the Saudi men in the pick up were loving the show of a woman in jeans and a t-shirt sans abaya for the few seconds it took us to unhook her and re-clothe her.  The abaya was a lot worse for the wear, and was now beyond repair.  Good thing she only needs it for another 9 days. The men in the truck offered help (after we had already gotten everything under control) but we declined and decided it was probably time to return the bikes.

When we returned the bikes, the men with the horses were there waiting for us.  Rasheeda didn't really want to ride too much, she just wanted to get some photos of us on the horses.  So we negotiated a price, I thought was just for getting on the horses having a quick photo shoot and then being done with it.  Rasheeda chose a horse that was further away than the one I got on, so he walked me and my horse over to her.  She had asked ou taxi driver to take pictures of us on our horses, so he was following along behind us, I w
as all set to pose for our one photo, but now the guys were leading our horses out into the desert, so, I guess now we were getting a ride as well.

Rasheeda on horseback being trailed by a car full of Saudi Men

When I turned around to look at the taxi guy for a photo, I noticed that a car full of Saudi men was following us into the desert on our horses.  I thought it was a little strange, but tried to ignore them, when I noticed a second car following along next to Rasheeda.  Now there was a car on either side of us, both of them crawling along beside us at a snails pace.  Rasheeda and I decided it was time to go back, but the guys leading our horses obviously wanted us to stay on longer so they could try to ask for more money.  I turned my horse, and he would turn it back.  We did this a few times before he finally gave in and turned us around, possibly because now the two cars had turned into about five, circling us.  It's an odd sensation to feel like you are being circled by sharks while on horseback in the desert.

Now that we had turned back, the men in the cars following us were becoming more vocal.  Evidently, they realized their window of opportunity for harassing us was coming to an end.  At first it was fairly innocent, "Hey, where you from?"  "Hey, can I take your picture?"  I decided my strategy would be to ignore them.  Thinking perhaps that he was being helpful, the guy leading my horse was trying to help translate for them (even though he spoke less English than they did).  He would tap my leg to get my attention and then point to whatever Saudi guy hanging out the window had asked him to get my attention. Then he would "translate" by making wild hand gestures that mostly seemed to indicate taking pictures or getting phone numbers.  At least, that's what I hope all those gestures meant.  I tried not to look at any of them and just shook my head at the guy leading me and tried to encourage him to send the guys away.

Apparently, this was the wrong tactic.  They started to get more aggressive, "Hey, you know you are very sexy?" (a remark I found fascinating since I was covered in my abaya and headscarf and so the only possible thing they could possibly see were my ankles).  and "I am the only one who knows English here, will you let me ride with you?"  I think that is when I figured out why the guy leading the horse wasn't being more insistent that they leave... he was hoping for more money from them.  The closer we got to our starting point and taxi, the closer the cars came.  At one point a car came so close I thought they were going to run straight into the horse and while I was busy watching the front end of the bumper come within inches of hitting the horse, a guy sitting in the window of a jeep leaned over and reached out and ran his hand along my thigh before they drove off.  I was so surprised and shocked that I didn't even know how to react.  Rasheeda was a little bit ahead of me and I saw the jeep pulling up next to her, so I called out to her to watch out because he was going to try to touch her, but it was too late, he did the same to her.  We were shocked.  I wanted to get off the horse and be done with it, but I figured we would be worse off just walking along, even though we were now only about 200 feet from where the taxi was parked.  I was really upset at the guys leading the horses, and at the taxi driver who was still taking pictures.  I know we weren't their sisters or mothers or anything, but we were paying customers and they should have at least told the other guys to leave us alone, but they didn't seem to see anything wrong with what was happening.  The jeep came back around for round 2, and I shouted at him and turned the horse away in time, and Rasheeda threw her shoe at him.  It missed and hit the car, but they got the message and drove off.  I should have said, "Would you let someone treat your sister this way?" or "WWAD (what would Allah do)?"  I don't understand how they can reconcile such behavior with their religious beliefs.  It seems so contradictory.

We got off and got back in the taxi.  As we were pulling away, one of the cars that had been following us pulled up next to ours and shouted, that they were really sorry for all of that, and isn't Saudi a bad place?  Apparently, they didn't consider their own role in what had happened as bad, since now, afterward, their intentions were good.  "You should come in the morning" he said, "No one will be here to bother you then."  In fact, we had come on a weekday specifically because it was not as crowded as it was on the weekend, and at first, there hadn't been very many people, but as the sun went down and the night got cooler, more people came.  I think maybe we would have been better off on the weekend after all, since there would have been more families around and that might have kept the men in check.  Still, there were a few other women there tonight, but they had all come with men.  We were alone. Maybe that is where we went wrong.

The taxi took us home, and even though it had ended on a sour note, I'm really glad we went.  It was nice to drive in Saudi Arabia, even if it was just a dirt bike.  Check out the video below that Rasheeda made of our adventure.....

The Accident

Traffic being what it is here, it was really only a matter of time before we were in an accident.  This morning, our time ran out and we were in a minor fender bender.  Let me say up front that no one was hurt, and both vehicles suffered only minor damage.

I was reading, as I normally do on the morning commute, and sitting on the opposite side of the bus, so I didn't actually see what happened, though I did feel the jolt.  Afterward, the people who were on the left side of the bus described it to me.  We were at a major intersection, and by major I mean there were four lanes just for turning left, and another four for continuing straight (there was no right turn).  We were in the farthest right lane of the turn lanes, as we did everyday, since after we turn left we end up merging right to get on another road.  There was a car in the lane to the left on the inside of us, and when the signal changed, everyone began turning left, except this car, who evidently thought he was in the straight lane.  Since the bus makes wide turns, he must have gotten the impression that we were also going straight, only we weren't, we were turning, and the other car was not, so he got clipped by the back end of the bus.

At first, we just kept driving.  It hadn't been a very big jolt, and I wasn't sure if we had hit something or not, and I was in the middle of the bus, so it may have been even more slight in the front of the bus and the driver might not have noticed.  Some of the girls spoke up and said, "Hey, we just hit someone and then after a few hundred more feet, "He is following us, I think we need to pull over."  So after a few hundred more feet, we pulled into a side street and the car came up beside the bus and started shouting.  Our driver happens to be from Pakistan, and so does not speak Arabic, so he just sat there while two men jumped out of the car and yelled, pointing at the damage to their car and gesticulating wildly.   Our backseat driver was also uncharacteristically quite.  After a while, he said, "Would someone please translate and explain to this man that if he want's to go straight he shouldn't be in the left turn lane?"  Turns out, one of the guys in the car spoke English himself so he countered by saying, "Your driver did not use a turn signal!"  Which I suppose is fair enough, given that even though everyone always uses the leftmost 4 lanes for turning left and I have never seen anyone go straight from them, as far as I can tell, they aren't marked for left turn only.

The two men suggested that they call the police, and it reminded me that every other morning I had seen police at that very intersection, but today of all days, they were not there.  The back seat driver said there was no need to do that, and that we could just exchange information.  The man was still trying to get the driver to admit it was his fault, and insisting that they should call the police.  A man in a uniform presumably guarding the building we had stopped in front of approached us and asked us all to move and pull further down the road.  We watched the driver who had just been in an accident, get back in his car, accelerate wildly, cut back into traffic without a backward glance and then pull over again a few cars up, inches from clipping the bumper of the care parked behind him.  We followed and pulled over in front of him.

This time the driver (and the backseat driver) both got out to assess the damage of the other vehicle and continue the discussion.  Like curious cats, about half the men got out to also have a look, and to offer their support as "witnesses".  I wanted to see too, but none of the women got out and I was sure it would be frowned upon if I did, so I stayed put and tried to overhear what I could.  It was clear that our driver and backseat driver did not want the police involved, and were pushing just for the exchange of information so that the company could take care of it.  I thought perhaps it was because we had unmarried men and women in the same vehicle, which, if not actually illegal, was at least severely frowned upon.  I was glad for the tinted windows and am happy they didn't know there were women on the bus.  One of the men who had gone out to see came back on the bus and told us what was happening.  Turns out, the real reason they were nervous about calling the police was because our driver, the person our company had hired specifically to be a driver, did not have a driver's license.

I know that by now, I should not be at all surprised by anything this company does, but I am.  I am particularly surprised since to get my teaching position, I had to have my degree verified by three different agencies. If they are that careful with our credentials, I foolishly assumed that they would at least bother to ask applicants to the driver position if they had a license. When the driver and the backseat driver got back on the bus, he said simply, "the boss will take care of it, don't worry."  And so I assume that the company will probably pay them off, and then use that as an excuse for why they can not buy a laundry machine for the apartment complex, which they have been promising to install now for over a year.

The Medical Exam

As part of the visa process to come to Saudi, I had to have a complete physical along with blood, stool, and pregnancy tests.  Upon arrival in the country, those applying for an Iqama or work visa must have a second physical and more tests.  Mine was scheduled for 7pm.  I thought it was odd to be showing up for a medical appointment so late in the evening, but apparently Saudi's only come alive after the evening prayers.  It's so hot during the day, they prefer to do everything after the sun goes down, whenever possible.

My driver arrived promptly at 7 (the time my appointment was scheduled for) and we headed out into the night.  He "parked" behind two other parked cars in front of a large two story strip mall.  In bright neon lights, I matched the arabic logo to my appointment receipt.  The driver nodded to me to get out.  I hesitated.  I wasn't sure what to do.  Did I just walk in and hand them the sheet?  The driver motioned to himself and pointed to the door.  I nodded gratefully, and he got out to accompany me inside.  Inside, there were several people crowded around a counter, and attempting to wait in line, I stood just behind them.  The driver pushed himself right up to the counter and thrust my paper at the man behind the counter.  He looked at it and looked at me, and then said something in arabic.  The driver turned to me and repeated it.  I just shrugged.  Why, oh, why did I think it was smart to begin learning arabic by learning to read it? I can very easily name every arabic letter, and draw it's shape, but that is as far as I got.  Why didn't I start by learning to say things?  Important things like, "I don't speak Arabic.", "Do you speak English?", "I don't understand.", and "What on earth do you want from me?"  Instead, I shrugged helplessly.  The two men looked at each other and began drawing squares in the air.  I had already given him the paper for my appointment.  What else was square?  I took out my passport, but they shook their heads, no, that wasn't what they wanted.  The appointment was prepaid, so they couldn't want money.  What?  What could they possibly mean?  Finally a third man made the motion of taking a picture and I finally understood. They needed some passport photos to print the Iqama.  I pulled them out and handed over two of them to the man behind the counter.  He then asked for something else.  Again, I shook my head.  He banged his hand onto his fist.  Well, this was new and possible terrifying.  The other men joined in pounding their fists onto their open palms.  Yikes.  Stamp I thought, they must want a stamp or something.  I don't have anything with a stamp other than the paper I already gave him and my passport, but I had already showed them my passport and they didn't want it.  I shook my head again and looked confused.  They looked at each other again, and finally the driver pointed at my bag.  All I had in it was my passport.  I took that out to show him the bag was empty, and he smiled triumphantly.  They wanted the passport after all.  The hard part being over, he instructed me to wait in the chairs against one wall, and returned to his parked van.  Even though I didn't know him at all, and we could communicate no better than I could with any of the employees here, a little piece of me was sad to see him go.   Even a little piece of familiarity goes a long way when everything around you is strange.

Shortly, a woman came to take me to the women's waiting room.  There were two women ahead of me, and one of them was chastising her young son, who wouldn't sit still.  I smiled.  At least some things are Universal.  I was taken by a Filipino nurse who very efficiently sat me down, stuck me with a needle, and drew blood, all without saying a word. Then she handed me a small container and pointed me toward a restroom, saying "make it urine."  I made my way to the bathroom, and stopped when I saw the turkish toilet.  Now, I'm no stranger to the turkish toilet, having used one for two years in Albania, but I had never had to use one while holding up the folds of an abaya and a headscarf aiming carefully for the inch wide opening of a container.  Skill and luck helped me out, and I soon returned to her proudly bearing my hard earned liquid gold.

Next I was sent to the radiologist for an x-ray.  She showed me into the room, then quickly disappeared behind the open door for what seemed like an eternity.  When she finally closed the door, I saw that she had been behind it adjusting the equipment.  She inserted a piece of film into a metal case, and slid it into place, then motioned for me to come over.  She pointed to my headscarf and I started to remove it, but she just nodded and shook her head.  She must have been asking about any metal pins.  Luckily, I didn't have any.  She positioned me facing the plate, then moved my arms up along my sides until my elbows were sticking way out like the obligatory chicken dance we always do at the roller skating rink.  She ran back to push the button and do the x-ray and then called out to me in arabic, I wasn't sure what she was saying, or if they x-ray was already over, or if she was telling me not to breath, or what, so I just stood there, like an idiot with my arms like chicken wings.  Finally, she said, "Finished." and I relaxed.  She looked at me again and said "English?" and I said, yes.   She said, "oh, I thought you were an Arab."  I smiled.  Somehow I felt really proud.  My fake abaya was doing it's job.  Or at least this Filipino nurse thought so.

And then it was over.  The whole thing took about 30 minutes.  I went outside to find my driver.  He made a slash through the air with his hand and raised an eyebrow.  Finished? he was asking.  I nodded and he beamed at me in secret congratulations.  On the way home he said, "Arabic, No?"  I nodded. I wasn't sure if it was okay to talk to the driver, usually there were two of them, but tonight it was only one.  I figured he had started talking, so it must be okay. I pointed to the van and said "English? van.  Arabic?"
He said, "Shahena.  English?"
"Van", I said.
"Van," he repeated.
 I said, "Shahena."  Or thought I did, but he corrected me and said it again.  I repeated it a few more times. He pointed to his hand and said: "yote" and I repeated.   He pointed to himself and said,"Almed."  Then he pointed to the rearview mirror.
"Mirror" I said.
"Mirror?" he said.
"Yes, Mirror." I said.
We played the game of pointing and repeating in English and Arabic, everything that was in sight.  He even pointed out the window at one of the crazy drivers weaving recklessly in and out of traffic.  "Mezhnoon" he said,  "English - crazy."  I laughed, yes it was certainly crazy.   He did know some English. We pointed out a few more mezhnoon drivers. Then he said, "Oh my God." imitating the voice of a teenage girl, "Ya ilhaly".  I laughed again.  Where on earth was he learning his English?  When we arrived back at the hotel, I asked him how to say thank you, and he told me, "Shakera".
"Shakera," I told him.
"Shakera, Mirror." he said.  I was confused for a moment, and then realized that when he had been pointing to the mirror in the van, he had actually been pointing at me.  He was asking my name. Oops. I thought about explaining, but then realized how hard that might be. I didn't think my new Arabic skills were up to it just yet, so I smiled instead and said,  "Shakera, Almed, shakera."

Standard Arabian Business

Me in my fake abaya

I didn't sleep well.  I kept getting up to check the time, worried that my alarm wouldn’t go off for some reason.  Wouldn't it figure that when I finally did drift into my first deep sleep in 48 hours, my alarm went off.  The first thing I did was check my email to see if the company had responded to me.  They had.  My instructions were to be in the Lobby at 10am, and not to take the 9am bus, because that bus was to take the teachers to school, and I needed to come to the office instead.  Relieved, I decided to try to get a little more sleep.  At 9:05, I heard a knocking sound, I sat up in bed.  Is someone knocking on my door? I heard it again.  This time I was sure it was my door. I got out of bed and started to make my way to the door, but stopped short half way there.  I was in shorts and a tank top.  I needed my abaya.  The knock came again louder, and I hurried to throw on my makeshift abaya. By the time I had frantically thrown on my abaya and grabbed a scarf to throw over my head, there was no one at the door anymore. The phone rang.  It took me a minute to locate it on the wall by the TV... But finally I found it. Hello? I said. Someone answered and said something in Arabic, and then the word, "downstairs". I said, 10am? Or now? And the man responded now. I said please wait 5 minutes, but am not sure if I was understood or not. Properly covered with all important documents in tow, I made my way downstairs and was ushered into a van.  I was the only one in the van besides the driver and his buddy.  I wondered if there would always be two men escorting me around or if last night and tonight were just special occasions. 

I’m sure you will all be relieved to know that not only have the golden arches made their way over here, but also the Red Lobster (though I doubt I will be partaking in a Lobster fest anytime soon, as  women can only eat in restaurants with their husbands or another male relative). In the light of day, I could see a lot more out the window of the van.  Unfortunately, most of what I saw wasn’t worth looking at.  Everywhere there was new construction, surrounded by mounds of excavated dirt and left over construction rubble.  Everything was shades of tan and brown and no plants anywhere.  The only color being the neon signs on some of the newer buildings.

Eventually we pulled up in front of one of these strip buildings.  I can’t exactly say we parked, as parking, like forming lines, seems to be one of those things that Saudi’s just don’t do well.  Once the spaces in front of a building were taken, the next vehicle to come along would just stop anywhere along the store front.  Sometimes directly behind a parked car, other times perpendicular to several cars.  I sincerely hoped none of the previous parkers needed to get out. The driver and his friend got out, but motioned for me to wait.  I waited.  Eventually they came out again.  As far as I could tell, they had gone in with nothing and come out again with nothing.  I couldn’t read the Arabic sign, or see into the shop, so I have no idea what it is they did. 

We left that shop, and shortly pulled up in front of another building.  Again they motioned for me to wait in the car, which was sticking out at least ¾ into the road.  There were no markings or sign in front, but there was inexplicably a number taped to the glass door. The driver and his lackey went in, came out, and went in again. Finally they came out again, waited a while outside, and went in yet again.  They did this about half a dozen times, sometimes together, sometimes alone.  I couldn’t figure it out, but they seemed very serious about it.   The driver wiped his brow and looking concerned, though I doubt it was for me. I think I was just brought along on the morning errand run. Finally, a woman came out and got into the van with me.  She sat in the very back and did not say anything to me.  I thought she might be one of the teachers too, but she looked Arabic, and unfriendly, so I didn’t say anything.

We finally arrived at the company headquarters.  It was large, well kept, and there was even a small patch of grass with a palm tree out front.  And by small, I mean, the very definition of a postage stamp lawn.  If you were to have a picnic on it, all that would fit would be the basket.  We went inside, and it was just like any large office building in the US.  There was a reception desk, and two staircases going up on either side.  I looked around for some clue about where to go.  I asked the man at the reception desk, but he just looked at me with confusion.  The woman who had come with me in the van said, oh, are you new?  I’ll take you up.  I thanked her and followed her up to the third floor where we were ushered into an office and told to have a seat and wait.  There were two desks, one was empty, and the man at the other desk was standing up shouting into a phone.  A door on the far wall led into a third office. Presumably for the big boss, as he turned several people away from going in.  Apparently, he was in a very important meeting. 

After about 45 minutes of watching the guy at the desk shuffle papers, make more calls, and in general handle more business, all while standing up, he handed me a folder with my contract and paperwork and asked me to look it over.  I reread the contract, and noticed, that instead of the contract ending August 2014, as my copy of the contract that I had signed before coming read, this one said August 2015.  He had left the room and so I couldn't ask him about it.  After another 45 minutes or so, he returned and said he was finally ready for me.  I asked about the end date of the contract, and he said that we had signed the first contract in February, and had I come in February, it would have stayed the same.  But they have a mandatory rollover in the third month, because it is too close to the end of the school year.  He told me that actually it was better for me, because I would still get a ticket home for summer (pro-rated amount of time off, won’t be the normal 30 days since I have not been here long enough) and a return ticket at the end of the year as well, If I had only the August 2014 contract, I would not get the summer paid leave or vacation ticket.  I explained that I was planning to go to graduate school and probably wouldn't come back.  He said that was fine, too.  I can leave whenever I want, I just won’t get the return ticket. I explained that I came under the assumption based on my contract that I could leave at the end of August and get my return ticket.  He said to just use the summer vacation ticket as the return ticket then.

He then showed me the other change to my contract.  Originally, I was supposed to go to Princess Nora University in Riyadh, but they had to change, and were now going to send me to Jouf.  Jouf is in the northern part of Saudi, near Jordan.  It’s a very small place.  I was kind of pleased; I have never been one for big cities, so it was fine with me.  He got me a ticket for the 29^th of April to fly to Jouf.  While he was filling out more paperwork (still standing, even though there was a perfectly good chair behind him) the big boss came over and asked what he was going to do with me.  He said Jouf, and the big boss said Jouf? And then ensued a somewhat heated discussion in Arabic.  Finally the big boss looked up at me and said, how would you like to go to Dammam?  Dammam is on the east coast of Saudi Arabia, near Bahrain.  Now, having never been anywhere in Saudi, one place is more or less like any other as far as I’m concerned, so six of one half dozen of the other. Sure, I said.  He explained that one of their teachers father’s had died, so she was returning home for the funeral, and would not be coming back.  I would be taking her place. 

Turns out, the woman on the van with me, was also headed to Dammam.  She had arrived three weeks earlier and had wanted to stay in Riyadh since she had family here, but there were no openings, so she had finally agreed to go to Dammam, which is relatively close, only three and half or four hours away.  So they worked on getting us tickets.  First they had us flying out on the 28^th.  Then someone said, no, no, the train is better.  They should take the train.  So then they tried to get us tickets for the train on Saturday the 26^th.  There were three trains, one that left at 10am, another at 1pm, and finally a 5pm train.  I thought that the 1pm train would be best, because we would arrive by 5pm, giving us time to settle in before starting work on Sunday. The other woman, Leila, preferred leaving at 5pm, because there was nothing to do anyway and it might be cooler by then. I asked if there was anything to see from the train, and everyone laughed.  Sand, just sand and more sand, they said. Turns out the 1pm train was full anyway.  So we went for the 5pm, but the website wasn't working to book the train, so we left without getting our tickets, with the promise that they would email them to us.

Leila and I made our way back to the van shaking our heads at the new norm of disorganization we were facing.