Theo of Arabia: Part 22

It’s Saturday morning and although I’ve been looking forward to all week finally sleeping longer and not get up before noon, I now can’t sleep. Damn! What do you do on a Saturday morning when all others are either still sleeping or busy doing something? I decide to go on an extensive bicycle tour. I’m sure I will regret it later on, because the bike is scrappy and it’s painful to ride it, but hey, you only live once!

I walk out of the residence, go to the shed and take the bike out, place myself with it in front of our building, close my eyes, take a deep breath and enjoy the warm rays of sun. The silence is broken by the voice of the security guard. He wants to know if everything is OK with me and the bike. Yes, don’t worry mate, all is fine.

So I swing myself on the bicycle and ride down the broad and wide road, past the petrol station with the convenience store, the well where the city gets its water from, and a ‘guest house’. At the well I look if the yellow truck is somewhere to be seen and at the ‘guest house’ with the beautiful entrance is one of the side entrances open and I glimpse inside but cannot see anybody. A few metres further is a pretty dusty Merc SE parked and reminds me of my Merc SE in my parent’s garden, waiting to be driven. I wish I had it here with me.

These ‘guest houses’ have little to do with our guest houses. Here they have a different function. Since every Muslim man can marry up to four women (depending on his wealth) and may have many, many children with them, it is sheer impossible to visit somebody with such a family. That’s why there are these ‘guest houses’, to accommodate many people. They can be rented by the hour or for a whole day. Depending on their size, they may have swimming pools, football pitches, tennis courts, etc. What they all have is various rooms, like kitchen, dinning hall, prayer room, TV room, and various other rooms. And of course, times two. Once for men, once for women.

Then I turn into a busy street and ride a few hundred yards up to a decorated roundabout. Next to it is an open air fruit and vegetable market. The market is small, nothing spectacular, but interesting enough for a westerner to take a few photos of it. Once I wanted to buy some fruit here, but was told, either the whole box or nothing. That’s why I buy my fruit and veggies at the supermarket. There you can have them in small quantities.

A few hundred yards down the road is a canteen owned by a Filipino. There I always buy me a cup of tea. Like today. I chat with him for a while until some customers arrive. I then take my cup and sit on a bench nearby. On one side there is a road with plants and bushes in fanny shapes and on the other is an empty riverbed. Behind it is the city centre.

Suddenly I hear a crackling on a PA and shortly after follows the voice of a muezzin calling all believers to prayer. Seconds later, muezzins from all directions are to be heard. The Filipino shuts his canteen, swings himself on his bicycle and rides off towards the nearest mosque. More or less 15 minutes later you can hear the Imams from all directions. I close my eyes, listen to the sermon and enjoy the warm sunshine. I continue my journey as soon as the prayer time is over.

I drive along the main road in which men are waiting for their ride home in the afternoon. If you don’t know what they are doing there, you might mistake them for male prostitutes. Then I remember that I have little cash and that I have to withdraw some money. So I turn into a street in which is a drive-through-ATM. A few cars are standing there already, so I line up behind them. The drivers give me some funny looks when they notice me, but greet friendly and the driver before me waves me through and gives me his position in the queue. I’ve never been to a drive-through-ATM and had never seen one, before I came to this country. I was told that there are drive-through-ATMs in other countries too, but not in the ones I have been or lived in.

Then I drive to the centre and drive aimlessly through the streets. When I’m somewhere in the small side streets I see an Arab holding a falcon. I stop and look at both from a distance. When the Arab notices me, he makes a gesture and asks me to come closer. We chat for a while and he tells me that he uses the falcon for hunting. He also tells me that this is one of the favourite hobbies of the Arabs. Then I ask if I can take a photo. I can, and he takes down the blindfold of the falcon. Then I cycle on to the big mosque on the edge of the centre. On the way there, I get past several roundabouts that a differently decorated. Some look really nice, some rather cheesy. The country is full of them. You can use them as a meeting point: We’ll meet by the clock tower at 11. You don’t need to know the address. Everybody knows the roundabout with the clock tower. I also get past a park. We pass it quite often by car, but we never stopped. Now I have the opportunity to have a closer look. It’s not finished yet and it’s still under construction. What catches my attention is the lush juicy green. When I stand next to it and touch it, I realise that it is not real grass, an artificial carpet. It also has coloured patterns. Then I cross the street and go to the big mosque. I park my bike outside, go to the entrance, take off my shoes and go inside. There’s no one there and it’s very quiet. I sit down on the carpet, close my eyes, take a deep breath and let my thoughts run free. At some point my legs ache from sitting cross-legged – respect to my Muslim brothers who can sit like this for hours, I lie down on the carpet and drift away. It is so heavenly quiet in the mosque and I feel like floating. A gentle tap on my shoulder brings me back to reality. I open my eyes and catch sight of a smiling Arab over me. His eyes sparkle and he says:

“Salam Doctor!”

“Salam!” I reply and straighten up. A look at my watch tells me that I slept for about an hour.

“It’s prayer time soon” he says, “and people will come”, he adds.

I stand up slowly and walk slowly towards the entrance. I go through the entrance, put on my shoes and go next door to the washing room. When I get out again, I see my bike parked where I left it.

When I started to ride a few weeks ago, I was worried that it might be stolen without a lock. So I went to a bike shop to buy one. Since the shop assistant didn’t speak any English, it took him a while to understand what I wanted. As soon as he understood, he started laughing. I looked stupid and didn’t understand what was going on. He left the shop briefly and returned a moment later with somebody who spoke English. This person told me that I don’t need a lock, because it’ll never get stolen. He also said that no one has a lock on his bike. Strange world.

I jump onto my bike and ride towards the city centre. My stomach is growling. I stop at the first restaurant I see. There I’m being greeted effusively and after my meal I notice that I don’t have to pay for the drinks and the dessert. When I go out of the restaurant, it is about to get dark. The sun is setting and the sky is full of lovely and soft colours like an aquarelle. On my way home I get past an S-Class Merc from the 1990’s, which is decorated with flowers and hearts. I have a closer look at the car and take a photograph. The Arabs standing next to it and me smile and laugh. Today someone is getting married, they tell me. Nice and cheesy, I think to myself, but also romantic.

I stop again at the canteen of the Filipino and buy me a cup of tea. When I reach home, I park the bike in the shed, get past the security guards and greet them, drag myself up the stairs to the first floor, take my clothes off and throw myself onto the bed.

Good night world. Nice to be able to experience all that. Thank you Lord, thank you!

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Guest house