Part 8

Sometime at dawn I first hear the muezzin and then the Imam. Listening to them is beguilingly and I continue my blissful sleep. I have a hard time waking up at 6am when the alarm clock rings and tears me out of my dreams. I haven’t had to wake up this early for a long time. Now I need to get used to it.

At 7.20am I walk down the stairs to the ground floor and see a, from the sun orange lit entrance. Unbelievably beautiful! I pass by the room with the security guards, greet them and am greeted, and walk out of the building into the fresh and cool air of the desert. ‘Ar’ar is located to the north-east of Saudi Arabia on the Iraqi border. Jordan is also not that far. It is known for its fertile pasturelands which lends itself well to its principal occupation of sheep and camel herding. The population of the city, according to the latest official government statistics is 240,000. ‘Ar’ar serves as a significant supply stop for travellers on Saudi Arabian highway 85.

The city was founded in 1951, after the construction of the Aramco oil pipeline was completed. It was initially an oil pumping station with a health centre and worker housing. ‘Ar’ar got its name from the original oil field that existed before the town, “Field RR”, one of the many in the country, which later became ‘Ar’ar. The name Arar means ‘juniper’ in Arabic.

Due to the desert is the climate very dry and at night quite cool and sometimes below freezing.

I’m standing in front of the entrance, looking at the desert, enjoying the sunshine and the fresh air. The colleagues are coming one by one and we greet each other. Suddenly a few Africans appear and I wonder who they are. I’m told that they are the people from the University of Missouri and teach the second year students. They are originally from Ghana, but do their PhDs in the US. This here, the teaching and training is part of their degree.

Suddenly I hear a voice coming from one of the parked cars asking:

“Good morning Theo! You are the new one, right?”
Oh, another face I do not know!
It’s doctor Suha. The doc is Turk, has been living in the States for many, many years, holds two PhD titles and is the leader of the Missouri troop. Doctor Suha is one of the best people I have ever met. He even gives free hugs to some of my colleagues and everybody loves him.

Then comes Mohammed, our driver. We get on a ramshackle Nissan-Bus that is parked in front of the house and drive off. We drive across the city. On a city-highway though, but you can see parts of the city and the centre. I am thrilled and can’t get enough of the views. A quarter of an hour later we arrive at work and spread out. Some go to the cafeteria for breakfast and the rest into the main building to the kitchen. There is coffee, tea and bottled water for free and you can have as much as you want. One more good thing about this part of the world.

I follow Murray into his office and then into a classroom. I spend an hour watching him teaching the class and then I get the opportunity to take over and teach the students. It’s not that easy to keep those young men calm. They are full of energy and life and want to know quite a lot about me. Also, they seem not to have a desire in having a lesson, but would rather do something else. Although they are between 18 and 23 years old, I have the impression I have a bunch of thirteen-year-olds in front of me. But they are funny.

After an hour, I go back to Murray’s office. I’ll be doing office duty the next couple of days. Putting student attendances onto excel spread sheets.

At 3.30pm, Mohammed the driver comes back and drives us in the same ramshackle Nissan-Bus back to our residence. Hardly at home, all disappear into their flats.

In the late afternoon, a few colleagues and I drive to a supermarket. Barely there and in, I feel amazed from what I see. First, there is an area in which mobile phones, laptops, tablets, etc. are being sold. A BlackBerry Q10 is 200 Pounds, an iPad Mini 210 Pounds and an iPhone 5S is less than 420 Pounds Sterling! The prices are extremely low due to the non existence of taxes. No VAT on products! Can you imagine?

From there you go into the actual supermarket. Everything comes in large portions and cartons. Rice is available only in sacks from 5 kilos onwards. Nothing less, nothing smaller. The 500gr. pack as we know it, doesn’t exist. The heaviest sack weighs 50 kilos. Washing powder comes in very large boxes, but in one corner you can find small packaging starting from 90gr up to 200 something. Bottled water comes in cups (!), normal bottles as we know them and bigger ones up to 20 litres. I buy 2 of the 20 litre ones.

Since you can’t drink tap water and in no case use it for cooking too, you can buy cooking water in big bottles, like drinking water. The meat counter is lean and poor. Except mortadella (chicken and beef) in different flavours (with olives, pepper, etc.), there is nothing else. The same with the grated cheese. Mozzarella only. Sugar, too, comes in larger packaging as we know it. At the fruit and vegetable stand you can, thank God, shop normally. I feel a bit stupid with my three apples and five oranges among all those Arabs who buy everything in large quantities, but who cares!? I’m surprised when I discover that there is normal bread too, and not just pita bread. By the juice, the selection is larger than at home. Here you can find juice with exotic fruit, like guava.

I need a bit longer than my colleagues, not only because I first have to find my way through the supermarket, but because the Arabic script and numbers give me a hard time. I find it interesting that there is a counter with nuts, grains, etc. The tea shelf is stocked richly, but I’m a little disappointed to see Lipton tea. I realise that people here like Lipton. There was plenty of it in the kitchen at work this morning. But thank God, there’s not only Lipton, but there’s Arabic and Moroccan tea too. Even one with German expertise! As I walk through the aisles I see many women who are alone with no male company, and many couples. It’s positively to see that the men push the shopping cart and they decide together what should be purchased.

There comes an announcement and the lights go slowly off and all ran to the tills. What’s going on? One of my colleagues sees me and says: “Quick, to the till! It’s prayer time soon and the shop will close. If you don’t make it on time, we’ll have to wait until prayer time is over.“

So I make my way to the checkout and make it in time out of the supermarket.

Everything shuts here during prayer time. If you find yourself in a supermarket, you should, when the announcement is made, proceed to the checkout as quickly as possible. Since the people who run the supermarket know when it’s prayer time, they make the announcement well in advance, so everybody has the chance to proceed to the checkout and pay in time. If you do need a little longer, or do not make it in time, you have to leave your shopping cart where it is and leave the shop until the prayer time is over and the shop reopens. I read somewhere that when prayer time starts, all the staff and the people throw themselves to the ground to pray. This is nonsense and absolutely not true. Who writes this rubbish I wonder, and why? Whoever wants to pray can go to a nearby mosque.

Restaurants close too. But not hotel restaurants and hotel cafés. Because a hotel can’t close, they simply stop cooking and serving during prayer time. But of course there are exceptions. In bigger cities where many expats live, like in Dammam, the door of the (western) restaurants is locked, the curtains or blinds closed and inside is business as usual. There seems that the Mutawa – the religious police, turns a blind eye. Not so in ‘Ar’ar. There are controls here and hefty fines are imposed if a shop or restaurant remains open. That’s why most people go out either in the early afternoon, because the time span between the third and the fourth prayer is bigger, or they go out after the last one. Shops close at 11pm, so there’s plenty of time.

I manage to pay in time and wonder that I have to pay so little. Life here is really very economic! Despite all the hectic, finds the cashier a little time to talk to me. He speaks a little English and after he’s asked me where I’m from and what am I doing here, he welcomes me to the city and to the country. I feel honoured and touched.

Our Egyptian colleague drives us quickly over the city highway home, and I think that I have to get used to the local driving style.

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