Arabian Autographs: Of Creed And Culture
When Angela Townsend arrived at Riyadh airport last March she saw a sea of multi-national faces, thronging in anticipation of meeting family and friends. "Thankfully, my husband recognised me in my new uniform of black ankle-length abaya and scarf and steered me towards the car.''
Angela writes vividly of life in Saudi Arabia, describing a visit to Mecca, the sacred birthplace of Islam.
Saudi Arabia - mystical land of soaring sand dunes, warm starry nights and dark-veiled women gliding through crowded markets. It is a land I have long been fascinated by since my childhood stories of faded magic lanterns, genies and flying carpets.
On my arrival in March 2004, I was to discover my childhood fantasies left a lot to be desired. Instead I have experienced other, intangible things, like the generous Arab hospitality, friendships, religion and harsh beauty of this troubled land.
When I arrived in Riyadh, five weeks after my husband, I had to admit a certain mélange of excitement, intrepidation and curiosity. At the airport the customs official dug through my bags, carefully scrutinising my psychology text books for signs of x-rated material.
I eventually arrived in the stifling evening heat of the main terminal, where a sea of multi-national faces thronged in anticipation of meeting family and friends. Thankfully, my husband recognized me in my new uniform of black ankle-length abaya and scarf and steered me towards the car.
The four-lane highway to our compound took us past massive, square mansions with fortress-like walls and intricate mosques with soaring minarets.
After a thorough security check by the Saudi National Guards at the compound's street entrance, we drove through a dizzying obstacle course of concrete blocks, up to the internal gate. More armed guards manned the entrance, complete with armoured tank.
I quickly settled into compound life and was soon a regular on the shopping expeditions with the other women. The shopping centres are an experience in themselves, boasting polished marble floors, tinkling fountains, fully-grown palm trees and Hilton-like glass elevators. The clothing hails from Paris, London and New York, and strangely, every single shop I have been to here is staffed exclusively by men.
I find it fascinating that women are forbidden to have contact with the general male population, but when it comes to buying the skimpiest lingerie (and there are many lingerie shops with fabulously indecent windows), it is a transaction with men, of the most personal kind. I, like many expats, find it most annoying (not to mention embarrassing) to be silently followed around these shops as I browse the latest season's frilly undies. As a result, I now prefer Marks and Spencer where the staff is less likely to stalk its customers.
The food courts do a ripping trade here, and I was initially surprised to find all the big fast food names from the West. Segregation is usual, with high walls shielding family groups and women from prying bachelor eyes.
One weekend my husband and I left the scorching desert city behind and made the five-hour drive to Khobar on the east coast. We bought kebabs and ate them on the corniche, looking across the water at the lights of Bahrain as the light slowly faded. Two weeks later we were shocked to hear of the compound shootings in Khobar, in which 23 expatriates of several nationalities were killed.
I took a part-time job teaching English at a private language school for women. It proved to be a welcome distraction from daily compound life. For the first month I was struck by the women's transformations as they peeled away their protective layers, like colourful butterflies emerging from dark cocoons. They strolled about in the latest Western fashions; bright tops, tight jeans and skirts of varying lengths. Jewellery and high heeled shoes were the norm while perfectly manicured nails and immaculate hair finished the look.
In class the women revealed bright, intelligent personalities, a wonderful sense of humour, and, for most, a desire to travel. They questioned me incessantly on my life before Saudi and seemed surprised I had chosen to come here.
My husband and I visited Mecca, the sacred birthplace of Islam, where the muezzin's call to prayer sent shivers down my spine. Few Westerners will ever lay eyes on this ancient city as it is off limits to non-Muslims.
My husband is a Muslim Arab and I have converted to Islam so the highway checkpoint before Mecca posed us no problem. We left our shoes outside one of the mosque's many entrances and padded barefoot across the cool interior. We sipped water from an ancient well and faced Kaaba, the black stone in the centre courtyard which is turned towards by millions of Muslims from every worldly direction, five times a day. Hundreds of prayer rugs lay in rows around the Kaaba, on which families and single men chatted and prayed before eventually joining the thronging crowds circling the Kaaba.
My experience of Saudi Arabia has been a wonderful blend of friendships, history, culture and religion that I would not have experienced anywhere else. It is a fascinating country with equally fascinating people and I feel it is a privilege to be here.
