Part 11

Although today is Friday, the first day of my weekend and I could sleep long, I couldn’t sleep all night. Around 8 in the morning, I give up sleeping, take my mobile phone and call the Pakistani guy at the airport to ask about my luggage. He picks up and tells me the good news. My travel bag arrived the night before. I’m really happy to hear this, jump out of bed and run to Murray, my project manager to tell him the news. His door stands open and he’s in the kitchen making a cup of tea. Then we go to the Pakistani colleague with the Canadian passport and the international driving licence and ask him if he could drive us to the airport.

After having a shower, and as I’m about to leave, I open a drawer to take out my passport and my look falls at the two bundles of money Anes gave to me at the airport of Riyadh. The owners have still not contacted me. Anes told me their names, but I’ve forgotten them. My Filipino guide said that the colleagues would seek me and I shouldn’t worry. One of them is not only waiting for money, but also for a laptop and a DSLR. Both are in my travel bag.

The way to the airport is almost exactly the same as the one to work. After a certain point the route becomes very beautiful. The traffic island between the two directions is beautifully decorated with different objects.

We drive into the very beautiful airport area and go straight to the Pakistani guy. WOW! My bag is here! It's been here since last night. Overjoyed we drive back home.

After unpacking, I Skype extensively and around noon I take a chair and sit in front of entrance of our residence to enjoy the sun. The security guard comes out and joins me. When the sermon in the nearby mosques is over, we see the believers coming up the street. We play the game ‘guess the nation’. Who comes from what country. The security guard is really good at it. He explains to me all the differences and how he recognises the various nationalities. He recognises the origin from the headscarf, or the thobe, or the cap or hat, etc. Then my colleagues appear on the horizon. The Pakistani, Bengali and the Egyptian are all dressed in their national dresses and there I see what the security guard means.

An hour later, my two Pakistani colleagues and I, start our long walk to the city centre. We need about an hour to reach the centre and I use the opportunity to take some photographs. In the centre we first go to a restaurant to eat. While this offers Arabic cuisine, it is not a typical Arabic restaurant. What do I mean? There a tables and chairs! You don’t have to sit on the floor. There are two counters with different food. There is deep-fried stuff like chips, fish fingers, etc. and traditional Arabic cuisine, which is sometimes very spicy. There is also tea made the Arabic way. I have a cup and like it a lot and go to the kitchen and ask the chef if I could watch him making it. He lets me watch him and feels honoured. It’s also an honour for me and he invites me to a cup of tea.

Then we go for a walk in the centre. Arab cities are built differently than European cities. There is no central piazza with town hall and pedestrian area. Since Saudi is a kingdom, there are no town halls. In a country like Saudi where the people are mad about cars, pedestrian areas are scarce. And something else is different. The shops. They are grouped. There are mobile-phone-streets, computer-streets, hairdresser-roads, areas with shops for women and children, etc. Depending on what you want you go to the appropriate street or area.

When the muezzin calls to prayer, we make our way to a nearby mosque. My colleagues go inside and I stay outside and wait for them. I lean against a lamppost and let my eyes wander around. Suddenly a Mercedes SE parks in front of me and a small sized Arab gets off. We look at each other for a second and I let my eyes wander again. However, he comes closer and says something to me in Arabic. Of course I don’t understand a single word and reply in English. But he doesn’t give up and talks and talks and talks. At some point I understand the word ‘Syria’. Does he really believe I’m a Syrian?

Maybe it’s because my beard has grown quite a bit. I try to explain to him that I’m no Syrian, but a ‘Yunani’, but somehow he doesn’t listen to me. Then an SUV parks on the other side of the street and Fahd, one of our students gets off and comes towards us. I ask him if he could help me with the Arab. Thank God he can. Fahad says something to the Arab and the man suddenly turns to me and asks: ‘Yunani’? I reply: ‘Yes, Yunani, not Syria.’ OK!

What did the man want? He wanted to know why I’m standing here outside and don’t go inside to pray. Now he knows that I’m no Muslim and no Syrian. He smiles at me, gives me his hand, wishes me all the best and goes to the mosque to pray.

When the prayer time is over, all come out of the mosque, among the people is the small sized Arab. He greets me again, gets into his Benz and drives away.

We get into Fahad’s 6-litre GMC-SUV and drive to a café to have some tea. The café also has a roof terrace with views over the wide street and the biggest mosque of Ar’ar.

He then drives us home. As soon as I close my door, there’s a knock at the door. One of my colleagues is standing outside.

“I believe you have something for me” he says conspiratorially.
“Could be”, I reply. “What should I have for you?”
“Money!”
“How much?”
He calls an amount which corresponds to the larger bundle of money.

Not even a minute after he’s gone, there’s another knock at the door. There’s another colleague.

Again the same game with more or less the same wording. For him I have the smaller bundle of money, the laptop and the camera.
Thank God I got rid of the stuff and especially of the money.

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Photos of the road to the airport can be viewed here: (opens in a new window)