Top Secret Santa

The Christmas season has a kind of weird twist to it in the Kingdom. It's not that Christmas is outlawed or anything – some Muslims celebrate Christmas and it's not against the Islamic faith – it's just that it's heavily discouraged. At the University, it's more or less a hanging crime to mention Christmas around the wrong people.

In the University, we are almost encouraged to report each other for any misdemeanor or supposed slight. If someone hears you say something like 'Merry Christmas' or, God forbid, you should say it to the wrong person, you could be called into HR for a talking to.

For the past couple of weeks we have been conducting a Secret Santa project in… well, secret. Every week we give our victims Secret Santas two gifts, each signed with a "SS" instead of "Secret Santa" in case the note should fall into the wrong hands.

We fall silent when someone who has reported us before for 'intolerant behavior' (the irony is not lost on us) walks by.

I've been leaving my Secret Santa booby traps of food in front of her door so that when she opens it she inevitable steps on it. You have to make your own fun in the Kingdom.

For the final gift I have gotten her a ball pit. Like a child's ball pit a la Chucky Cheese. She is going to freak and this is the most exciting thing that I can look forward to around the Christmas season.  Going to Christmas parties are not any kind of fun without my family around.

Happy Feet in the Desert

Even though in the Capitol things like dancing are frowned upon (especially in public), I have been attending more dance lessons than I ever have in my life. Before coming here, the closest I'd ever come to a dance class was watching Center Stage over and over again for a year in University.

But here, I have four dance classes a week. Four.

On Monday, the middle of the week, we start off with Tango. This is a small class held in a room in the basement of what I guess is a compound rec center. This is taught by Hamdi who is known for shouting things like "Give her gancho!" ('gancho' apparently being the little leg flick you do in tango) and "Control the Women!"

The last time he shouted this, my partner, an Australian man who was new, shouted back: "I can't, I think this one's American!" 

The American Bashing never really stops over here, but it's mostly good-natured. It's because Kingdomites like us better. And we're just plain cooler.

A wide variety of people attend, and friend Shelly and I gossip about the people and their dancing abilities. The one we talk about most is this guy who is terrible at dancing, but thinks he's awesome. In fact, he's so sure he's awesome, if he makes a mistake; it's obviously your fault.

Just to be clear, it's never the woman's fault in tango. Tango is all male directed. All the woman has to do is follow what the man does. This dude will stop dancing just to tell you sorrowfully: "you really don't get it, do you?" He'll ask the instructor to come and observe his partner, just to make sure she's doing it right, and Hamdi will inevitably tell him something harsh in Arabic and dude will say nothing else to you about it.

On Tuesday, there's Salsa. Salsa was the first class I took in Riyadh and it got me to thinking I wasn't as bad at dancing as I thought I was. For anyone who has always wanted to try a dance class, but thinks they will make a fool of themselves, I tell you this: It is not as hard as you think it is. For women especially, it's easier than it looks. The first day I was doing twirls and whirls that made it look like I knew what I was doing. Like in Tango, it's all in the partner.

This is a big class with about sixty, seventy people, held in an aerobics room on another compound farther away. There are several teachers there: a severe New Zealander (I didn't know they came in severe), a large Lebanese fellow, and some other various people – most of whom come to Tango.

A couple weeks ago we had a visit from a Lebanese woman who was a professional salsa dancer. She gave some lessons that were fantastic - she made us look like professionals. Even though I am still a beginner, it was easy to follow.

As an interesting side note, that weekend, we went camping with the Hash House Harriers (more on them later) and all of the people who were in charge of salsa showed up with strobe lights and Lebanese music, turning our camp into a raving party spot.

It made me think there was about three foreigners in the Kingdom and I knew them all.

Finally, on Friday and Wednesday I have Belly Dancing, taught by one of my co-workers, Natalie, in the play room at our accommodation. (Yes, we have a playroom).

This is a lot of fun in general even when Mary – who was barred from the class because she is what us teachers call a 'behavior problem' – comes into the back of the class and starts hip thrusting wildly in every direction.

Going to and from these classes requires being secretive about our destination when it comes to our doorman and I occasionally feel like I live in Footloose. Maybe we should find somewhere to play chicken with some tractors. Except that women on tractors would be HARAM.

Compounds

Here, most foreigners live on compounds. This is kind of a compromise between the Saudi government and businesses with foreign workers.

The compounds are like terrariums for people – extensive landscaping makes the places look positively green, there are swimming pools and rec centers – I went to one the other day with a racquetball court.

Most compounds don't allow Saudis on, period. They have had too much trouble with them because laws that don't apply to foreigners, apply to them.  We've had problems when our taxi drivers are Saudi and they can't drive onto the compound. More than once, we've had to walk.

On compounds, you aren't allowed to wear a hijab or an abaya. They tell you at the gate, when they take your passport, that you must take them off. Women can drive on compounds, and can be seen with men not related to them. All of my dance classes are on compounds, because otherwise the Religious Police would bust in and arrest us all.

It's a strange kind of separation. I met some women who have been living on a compound since they got here and they seemed really oblivious of the restrictions on women here. They never covered their hair, even when out – they hadn't been here long enough to have had a run in with the Religious Police – and they didn't see a problem with getting in random taxis at night. I told them as many horror stories – things that have happened to me or people I live with - as I could to try to get them to take a little more care with their personal safety.

It's like they live in a whole other world.

At some point, it occurred to me that if I was in a compound, I wouldn't have been going through most of the emotional turmoil I've been in, but then I wouldn't really be in the Kingdom.

Middle Eastern Culture and Cats

Arab Culture is a cat-loving culture. This is something I noticed in Turkey, but it's true for the Kingdom as well. 

They freaking love cats.

The stray cats in Turkey get pet by passerby’s. I routinely saw them get fed by shop owners and restaurant workers.

The Prophet Muhammad was said to have loved cats so much that he cut his cloak rather than disturb a cat that was sleeping next to him.

This is a contrast to Western culture which is a cat hating culture. Now, calm down, I know you love cats, and maybe your friends do, too. But that doesn't change the fact that our culture, as a whole, has it out for our feline friends.

Think of all the superstitions associated with cats. Don't let a black cat cross your path. A cat can steal a baby's breath. Cats are associated with witchcraft and the devil. In a movie, when a cat dies, it's meant to be humorous (though I never thought so), while a dog dying is tragic in the extreme.

Though the instinct is buried deep, it's still there, trust me.

In the Middle East, dog saliva is supposed to be unclean. If a dog licks your clothes, then you can't pray in those clothes. You either have to wash them or change before you pray. Dogs are not pets you keep in the house, nor are they kept by very many people. They are mostly kept as a display of toughness, as in, 'look how tough I am, I have a dog.'

The gesture that Westerners do without thinking about it – crooking your finger at someone to get them to come closer – is considered insulting here to the highest degree, because that's how you call a dog.

The Joys of Following Random People

Here is a great example of why I love staying in hostels:

I met this lovely woman here (Janet) who is an artist fresh from an artists residency in Capadoccia (images.google it – it's spectacular). She said that she knew of a drum recital going on in Taskim – which is where all the Turkish people go to party/shop.

Though I'm not really that into drums, I like music and I haven't been going out that much since I've been here, so I decided to go.

To find this place, we had to go into this unremarkable building and up three flights of half-lit stairs. I was just starting to think this is how human trafficking happens when we start to hear drums.

Turns out the 'school' is just a studio space in an apartment building where this woman holds week long intensive courses on the darbuka, the traditional Turkish drum. The recital was supposed to be a celebration of the end of the course and a chance for all the students to play together.

I felt very honored to be there, because me and Janet were the only ones who were not in the course in attendance.

It seemed like a chill session more than a concert and the students had clearly not counted one anyone showing up to be entertained. The teacher had to play about an hour before the students would touch a drum but eventually we were being serenaded (can you serenade someone with a drum?) with the most intricate drum beats.

The teacher than took out what she described as a 'spike fiddle' and started playing. Now, this thing looks like a black widow spider, but sounds like an orchestra. The music sounded like it was coming from the depths of someone's soul. It had a large amount of sympathetic strings, like a citar, but unlike a citar, you play this with a bow, so it resonates deeply. I can't describe it any better than that. I just hope the sounds comes through on the video better.

I could have sat there all night and listened to her play that thing.

One of the girls in the class was really into Balkan folk music and started singing along. It was unreal this mix of cultures that worked together so well.

I ended up having a lot of fun, met some really nice people, did some yoga, and learned a lot about Turkish and Balkan folk music.

What more can you ask out of a school music recital?

The Hajj

 It's that time of year again! The school breaks are upon us, the changing season is in the air, and old men are sitting around the airports in towels.

What?

I was talking about the Hajj season. What were you talking about? Witchcraft no doubt.

Yes, the Hajj is upon us. For those of you who are uninformed, the Hajj, or the pilgrimage to Mecca, is one of the five pillars of the Islamic faith. These are the five things that one must do to be a good Muslim. They are as follows:

1. The Islamic Creed, which is to proclaim that there is no other God than Allah.

   
   

2. Almsgiving, or giving money to the poor. In many islamic countries, this is part of the taxes, so it automatically comes out of paychecks.

3. Daily prayers, five times a day. This is strictly enforced here.

4. Fasting during Ramadan.Also strictly enforced in the Kingdom.

5. And finally, the Hajj.

There are actually many acts you have to preform during the Hajj, of which I do not know the extent. But on the 9^th day of the Hajj month, which started Wednesday, October 17^th this year, everyone – EVERYONE – who is performing the Hajj must be in the small town of Arafat (near Mecca) in order to do something. Something about throwing stones.

Arafat is supposedly where Adam received forgiveness from Allah, and where the Prophet Mohammad made his last sermon. It is known as a place of forgiveness.

But imagine it. Last year, there was 20 million people doing the Hajj. 20 million people in the small town of Arafat. Then, the next night, they all must sleep in another village, which is made solely of tents. They have all the modern amenities, it is said, just in tents.

There are other acts that must be performed, like the Umrah, which is what you see on television where they are walking around the Kaaba in the Grand Mosque in Mecca. The two times I have flown to City 2, there were announcements for all those going to perform the Umrah (which can be done any time of year). The announcements were concerning a distance from Mecca where you are supposed to gather your intentions to fulfill your holy duties. Since, in days of yore, one would be traveling on foot or on a camel, there was plenty of time to do this. Now, it's kind of a quick thought process you engage in before you land in City 2.

I was actually quite surprised to find that non-Muslims were not allowed, not only in the Grand Mosque, but in the entire city region of Mecca and Medina. In the past I have found the Islamic faith - and more or less every other faith excepting Mormonism - very willing to share their cultures with other faiths and peoples. Not so here. Infidels are strictly prohibited in the Holy Land. There is an invisible line after which non-Muslims are not permitted.

Obviously, I'm no expert on this, and I plan to learn more. But I'm very glad I'm getting the heck out of Dodge for the time being. If 20 million people in towels ( to approach Mecca on the Hajj or the Umrah, you must wear un-sewn cloth instead of clothes) are going to descend on this country, I'm glad I won't be here.  

Air Travel

 I hear people complaining about air travel recently – and probably with good reason – but I often find it hard to relate. Traveling in the United States and traveling outside of it are two entirely different animals. Standards for safety I have encountered abroad range from that time I was felt up so thoroughly by a security guard at Ferenc Liszt airport in Budapest I felt like she owed me dinner, to that time in Egypt, where, despite the prevalence of x-rays and metal detectors, they legitimately don't give a crap.

I can't count how many TSA violations I have gotten away with in my short life. Pretty much anywhere besides America will let you bring a bottle of water on the plane (this has happened to me in Egypt, the Kingdom, even Hungary) and a couple times I have forgotten something like a razor in my backpack and not gotten it confiscated.

Compare this to the one time my mother and I were traveling to Peru and they looked through her entire carry on for about twenty minutes until they found a nail file. Which they confiscated. Or the time, in Japan, everything was removed from my bag and x-rayed separately  I spent a long time standing awkwardly while they went through my things, feeling like I should be explaining why I'm bringing a bag of cheetos into the country (they were for a friend!)

In the Kingdom, there is separate security for women and for men. The men go through the metal detector like normal, and the women are diverted into this little hut off to the side. Inside, you have to pull aside not one, but two sets of heavy, light-blocking curtains to reach the inner sanctum.There, bored female guards will half-heartedly wand you over in case you are keeping a switchblade in your knickers. Incidentally, if I was keeping a switchblade in my knickers, they probably wouldn't have found it.

I have walked in several times to find the guards either cheerfully chatting with each other, sitting back and relaxing, having lunch, or, most recently, listening to their ipods (HARAM!)

No one can come and check on them because their bosses are all male. These ladies have figured out a pretty sweet racket.

These airports also have x-ray machines as you come in the door (not that they ever stop anybody from bringing in anything) and “family sections” which is where it's okay for women to be. There are also “single” sections which are for single men. To be fair, men are only allowed in the 'family' section if they are actually with their families.

As a lone female traveler, or really as a female in the Kingdom in general, I have to be careful where I sit, even in the 'family' section. Sitting by myself is always an option, though not as good as sitting relatively near other women. It should go without saying that sitting next to a man is not even an option.

On the plane, before take off, they recite a prayer that the Prophet Muhammad used to say before he traveled. There is, of course, no alcohol on any Kingdom Airline flights.

This in-depth description is in honor of my vacation I am taking for the rest of the month of October. I worked a grueling five days this month and I deserve a vacation!

I'm starting to feel like I take vacations professionally. Paid vacations.

All sarcasm aside, the last week has been hell on earth. Sometime since I left everyone has decided to start hating each other. When I arrived back, I was immediately treated to a dozen side conversations about one person or another. I felt bad even listening to people tear into each other but I hadn't been there so I had no idea if it was justified or not.

Tempers flared the other day on the bus and there was snarling all the way home. It was so vicious that my mp3 player couldn't drown it out and I had to distract myself by trying to learn the Arabic numbers using licence plates.

I know them perfectly now, in case you were wondering.

I got my own dose of annoyance when the job of editing and producing the bi-weekly newsletter fell entirely to me. Typically, we have a team to work on it, but they were all too busy this week.

I didn't mind at first and I was kind of looking forward to it. It may have even been out on time if anyone had sent me anything they were supposed to. On Wednesday COB (the newsletter should have been out already) I was still missing the main article that my supervisor said she would send me at 9 am. Plus, I designed all the banners and titles myself in illustrator and my supervisor takes one look at them and crinkles her nose, asks me if we can do something about the ugly colors.

After a week of this crap I was done and so glad someone had talked me into leaving for the vacation instead of staying in town and... I don't know, screaming at the ceiling?