(Untitled)
warning: emo post
why do bad things ALWAYS happen at once. why do people i trust ALWAYS happen to betray that simultaneously. i wanna go home. saudi how i miss thee.
why do bad things ALWAYS happen at once. why do people i trust ALWAYS happen to betray that simultaneously. i wanna go home. saudi how i miss thee.
Footloose
We are-all of us old fogies-well aware of the 1984 Kenny Loggins pop hit "Footloose." The movie was about a tempest created by a clash of cultures over the devil in dancing. The hit movie was accompanied by one toe-tapping, resurgent, revivalist, country western ditty that left our feet moving and blood pumping.
Which was how we felt-Denise, Sarah, and I-as we listened to the song and approached the toll booth gate leading along the causeway from Bahrain to Saudi Arabia. There are six gates one must pass through on this journey. But instead of leading to the gates of hell-like it does for all alcoholics-these gates would take us home to Al-Khobar.
First, though, we had to safely traverse gate number four. Here a Saudi official would inspect our passports. It was a special moment, for this was the first (and only) time our daughter Sarah would enter Saudi Arabia in 2007. It is not an easy thing to get into Saudi, its difficulty comparable to prying a dime from a skinflint, septuagenarian Republican Catholic. "Seddah," called out the official suddenly in the booth after inspecting the passports.
"What?" I asked, unable to comprehend his accent.
"Where is Sarah?" he said again, this time in a more calm, pacifying voice.
I turned around nervously and pointed my left hand toward the princess as if I were fingering John Dillinger. The official looked deliberately at the passport, then directly at Sarah. He handed the passports back to me. And, just before ushering us along, he did something the completed the sentinel experience.
He smiled.
It was a warm smile and-unaccompanied by words-a smile bathed in mystery. This gesture seemed entirely apropos for this strange land. Saudi Arabia is a country where humanity, mystery, and irony walk forward with interlocking arms. While humor resides just beneath the surface, irony exists as deep as the desert sands and mystery as wide as the night sky.
Walk past a Saudi man, look him in the eye, and smile; chances are he will return your gaze, take stock of its intent, and smile back-but he will never initiate such a show of emotions. On the other hand-under similar circumstances-force an awkward grin at a Saudi man and he will stare at you, and then dismiss your opening gesture without further regard. The latter case happens to me all the time.
Time, after all, seems to be on the Saudi side. Shrouded and inscrutable, cloaked in white thobes and black abayas, handcuffed to history, and embraced by Allah-this oil-rich Middle Eastern land awaits the intrepid. Don't wait for life to pass you by. You are warned in advance: it takes fortitude to pass through the gates of admission. Not just anyone can get into Saudi Arabia. There is one thing, however, that everyone can do.
Everybody cut Footloose.
Craig Parker
elcraig@gmail.com
Reply
Leave a comment