Theo of Arabia: Part 21

After successful negotiations, I am very happy to have saved myself a small fortune on the purchase of both, iPhone and screen protection. My colleagues enjoyed it too and are happy for me. After all those hard negotiations and back and forth with the car and trying to find an ATM, etc. we all got hungry. Where should we go for dinner? To the ‘Safa’ restaurant again or to one of the others we usually go? The alarm of the Egyptian’s mobile phone goes off and a few minutes later you can hear the muezzins on their minarets calling the believers to gather in the mosques to pray. So, food has to wait for a while. Since the two colleagues, an Egyptian and a Bengali, do not particularly like the mosques in the centre, we take the car and drive a bit out to the one they prefer. The one we’re driving to is bigger and more beautiful than the ones in the centre. We have been there several times and there is a nice restaurant two blocks away.

We park at the car park, get out and go to the washroom. First the colleagues and then me. When we come in, I see that this washroom is bigger and nicer than the ones of the mosques in the centre. We have been here quite often, but I have never visited the washroom. The room is quite busy, since there are still a few minutes to prayer time. When the men see me enter, some stand still and stare at me and some continue business as usual. The ones who look at me, stare as if I were from another world. What I actually am. And suddenly I feel like Sting next to Cheb Mami in the video of ‘Desert Rose’. A tall white next to a small Arab. The men smile and I smile back. I greet and they greet back. I have got used to be stared at. It felt a bit uncomfortable the first couple of weeks, but I got used to it. The people stare because they are not used to seeing white people. Word has spread around that very few of us live in the city and some Germans come on business and stay for a day or two, but still, it is, we are an unusual sight and it’s natural to be stared at. There’s no racism behind it, it’s sheer curiosity. That makes me sometimes feel like an attraction of this city in the middle of the desert.

After washing and cleaning, my colleagues go to the mosque to pray and I go back to the car. You could say that I’m like a dog outside a supermarket that waits for its master to finish shopping. While waiting at the car park, I enjoy the blue sky and the fresh air. Some cars arrive, stop, people jump out and run to different directions. Men to the men’s section, women to their section. Children go either with their fathers or their mums.

Each mosque is divided into two parts. In one part are the men, in the other the women. The women don’t see the Imam, but they can hear him. Unfortunately as a man I am not allowed to go to the women’s sections. Even outside prayer time. But I have been told that their section looks exactly the same. Same carpet, same decoration, same everything. However, while I once was in one of the larger mosques, and just as the cleaners were in action, the connecting door stood open and I could glimpse inside. In fact, everything is the same.

When the prayer time comes to an end, all the faithful come out with a big smile on their faces. Everyone goes to their pair of shoes and then to their cars. I wonder how they can find their pair of shoes among many other pairs. Especially on a Friday when the mosques are full with hundreds of people. Some mosques have shoe racks, but most people live their shoes outside the door. Do they remember where they leave them? I can easily find mine, because I don’t think anybody else has the same ADIDAS as me and they are probably unique in Ar’ar.

Within minutes the parking lot is empty and we also drive away.

Nearby is a fruit market where also all kind of other stuff is sold, such as sugar, corn, coffee, flowers, flour, herbs, spices, fruit and veggies. There are several stalls lined up and tons of parking spaces in front of the entrances. We go into a store and look at the fruit. We discover blood oranges and want to have some. The shopkeeper comes and start a chat with us. He even offers us to try one before buying. So we each try one. Since prices are nowhere to be seen, I ask for the price per kilo. The response is 30 Riyal for the box (roughly 5 pounds). Nothing is sold in kilos, only in boxes and in bulk. How many kilos are in there, I want to know. The shopkeeper shrugs with his shoulders and says that he doesn’t know. Six kilos perhaps? Crap! What should we do with so many blood oranges? Who’s going to eat them? Under no circumstances wants the shopkeeper to sell us a kilo only. It’s box or nothing. The Bengali colleague doesn’t want any. And while I’m having a conversation with my Egyptian colleague about the oranges, the Bengali is having a conversation with the shopkeeper. At some point the Bengali turns to us and says:

“If you want to buy that box, now it’s cheaper.”

“What?”

“I haggled him down to 25 Riyals.”

“Fantastic! Then we’ll take one!”

While I’m paying for the oranges, the shopkeeper asks one of his boys to carry the box to our car. Then we drive to a Turkish restaurant that it’s supposed to be one of the more expensive in the city. It is located next to the most expensive hotel in the city. As soon as we go in, the owner sees us and greets us warmly. He looks at me intensively and starts a conversation with me. We look around and decide to sit outside on the terrace. The staff are from Bangladesh. Since we order quite a lot of food, they come and go several times. When they have a minute they sit down and talk to us, but mainly to our Bengali colleague. Also the owner joins us at some point and we ask each other various questions. When the bill comes, we are astonished to see how little we have to pay. It must be mentioned that a few things, like juice, drinks and dessert are on the house. Mainly because of the Bengali colleague and of me. The best combination is to be four of us: The Egyptian because he speaks Arabic and can translate everything, a Bengali and a Pakistani because waiters, chefs, shop assistants, etc are from either country and me, simply because I’m European.

Since we pay so little, I give a good tip for Saudi standards.

It’s already dark when we reach home. I go into my bedroom, look out of the window and am rewarded with this view: