Part 27.2

The noise of the road and the voices of the young Arabs make me sleepy and I doze off. Then the bus stops somewhere in a place probably halfway to Rafha. Almost all passengers get out and go in one of the shops around to buy something to eat. Then we stand outside for a while and talk. I start a conversation with the drivers. Both come from Sudan and have been living in Saudi for several years. A few minutes later a few cars stop next to us and a few people get out and drag their luggage to the bus. A few minutes later the drivers call all passengers and the journey continues. Behind me on the last row of seats and opposite me sit some young Arabs. Since they stare at me I try to start a conversation with them. Only one of them knows a few words of English, and this proofs to be more difficult than imagined. They tell me that they are students and are now on the way to Riyadh. They ask me where I'm from, what I do, where I live, etc. After a few minutes however, they have reached their limit, don't know what more to say and ask and have difficulties understanding me, that's why the conversation comes to an end. Then they converse in Arabic and let me listen to my music. A few minutes later one of them shouts: Teacher! Look! And points out the window. A herd of camels. A few minutes later the same: Teacher! Look! A flock of sheep. The whole is repeated a few times and every time there is something to see. Then the others tell him something and he leaves me alone.
I look out the window again, and float away, deep into my thoughts. Their conversation in Arabic makes me sleepy and I travel to the realms of Morpheus.
A few hours later we arrive in Rafha. Next to where the bus stops stand a few taxis waiting for customers. We negotiate with two taxi drivers, load on all luggage and off we go! Although you can see the airport from the bus stop, there is no direct way to it. You have to somehow go around. We arrive after a few minutes, take the luggage from the cargo area and go to the check-in. Unfortunately, the baggage regulations are something bad and create ​​us various problems. You may only carry certain kilos and more than one piece of luggage is not allowed. I have two. One is checked-in, for the other I have to pay about 20 Pounds. Thank God it is not weighed. The Bengalis and the Pakistanis put together all their stuff, so that all suitcases and travel bags weigh about the same and are still within the permissible limit. Everything else is packed in their hand luggage.

Suddenly one of the security guards calls something in Arabic, looks in our direction, pointing to a large suitcase on the x-ray machine. He probably wants to know who it belongs to because he has discovered something suspicious. One of the Pakistani colleagues recognises the suitcase and calls the Brit who is smoking outside. The Brit comes in slowly and slightly annoyed because he had to throw away his cigarette, and waddles slowly towards the security official. The security man points at the suitcase visibly annoyed and upset and demands from the Brit to open the suitcase. The Brit obeys. Then the security man goes through the things of the Brit and finds a few mosquito sprays and deodorants. The are not allowed and must remain there. However, the Brit has something against it, but the officer insists. Then the security man fishes a large wooden cross from the suitcase, looks at it and starts waving around with it and says something in Arabic. The Brit looks at him and says calmly in English: What do you want? This is a cross and not a sword or any other weapon.
Everyone says something in his own language and eventually the official places the cross back into the suitcase. The Brit closes it and is finally allowed to check it in. 
Meanwhile, we are all a couple of feet away looking at the spectacle. When I then start to comment on the whole thing and say something like: Kneel down you wretch! Kneel thou shalt when you stand before the Lord and you little wretch must also repent for your actions! Etc. I cannot help laughing and get pushed forward by one of the Bengalis, so we're out of sight and earshot. We roll with laughter in the waiting room and then I get to hear by my colleagues: "Are you stupid? You could have got us into trouble!" and we laugh more.
We all turn serious as the Brit comes into the waiting area. But he notices that something is going on. After a few minutes we walk across the tarmac to the plane and get on it. I sit next to the Brit and he asks me what happened and why we were laughing. When I tell him the story he has to laugh too.
The flight is without any problems and an hour later we arrive in Riyadh. There we go through checks and endless corridors and put us on a couple of chairs and wait for the Filipino to pick us up. After three quarters of an hour he comes with our Boss from Canada, both in two large, white SUVs and we drive to the hotel where we all spent our first nights in KSA. I share a suite with the Brit. Everyone has a very large room with double bed. We also have a living room, a large bathroom and a kitchen.

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                                Desert

                                Teacher! Look!

Art along the way

                                Colleagues having something to eat somewhere halfway to Rafha.

                                Rafha

                                Our plane to Riyadh.

Part 27.1

It's Saturday very early in the morning. It is the beginning of an extremely long journey. There is a lot of movement in the residence. Apart from the project manager and two teachers who stay behind, all are leaving today.

The day before yesterday, on Thursday, the management arranged a small farewell celebration for us. The manager wanted to thank us for the good cooperation. Our project manager learnt about this somehow and didn't want to let us go. We once again didn't listen to him and went to the celebration. The room was festively decorated and was quite nice. There was plenty of coffee, tea, cake, pie, figs, etc. There were speeches held, photos taken and applause. We also received gifts. A beautiful and touching ceremony.

Yesterday I slept through half the day until noon and I crawled out of bed when the prayer time was over. Then I packed and went shopping with one of the Bengali colleagues, We wanted to buy something for our families. For me it was tea and biscuits. In the evening I was invited to dinner at the Bengalis. Our last supper together had something sad. Soon we will all be travelling in different directions and God knows if we ever meet again.

Now we drag suitcases and travel bags down the hall and down the stairs. I look again wistfully into my apartment before I close the door and go downstairs. Outside it is like every day. The sun is shining and it is pleasantly cool. Slowly all come outside with their baggage, and we gather in front of the residence. The security guards are here keeping us company and saying goodbye to us. Today we do not wait for the bus driver, but for the manager of the Polytechnic. He and someone else will drive us to the bus station. We can't be driven by our driver in the bus we used to go to work with, because our contracts expired and we have no more the right to it. Why no taxis have been ordered, I haven't got a clue. In any event, the Manager has agreed to drive us. Our project manager has, as he heard about it, got a tantrum and screamed for a long time. He wanted to prevent it and forbid us to be driven by the manager. He wanted our colleague who stays behind and has an international driving license, to drive us with the car we have at our disposal. Since we are eight people with a lot of luggage, the colleague would have to drive there and back a couple of times.

Well, we have again not listened to the Project Manager and are now waiting for the manager to come, who is just turning around the corner. He comes with a white pick-up with a large load area. We load our luggage and four of us take place in the car. The rest of our colleagues go with the colleague who stays behind.

At the bus station we unload the pick-up and the manager gets us the tickets to Rafha, from where we will board the flight to Riyadh. The bus ride across the Arabian desert is to last 3.5 hours. Then we say goodbye warmly and wait for the bus. The bus arrives late, who knows where it's coming from. As we get on the bus, we see that only a handful of people are on. We spread throughout the bus and make ourselves comfortable. Then comes one of the two bus drivers and asks for our tickets. The British colleague does not understand what he is asked and does not show him his ticket. The bus driver wants to sell him a ticket and that leads to a misunderstanding and the driver / controller gets angry and raises his voice. Not a good start! Since it is still very early in the morning, all float away into the realms of Morpheus. There are two TVs, on which a BBC animal documentary is shown. English original with Arabic subtitles. I look for some time out of the window and feel magically attracted by the desert. As far as the eye can see there is nothing but desert. From time to time we pass by sheep and herds of camels and sometime appears an oil pipeline along the highway. I take some pictures and immerse in deep thoughts.

It has been a beautiful and intense time and experience. Not always beautiful, sometimes difficult and not nice at all, but on the whole a very interesting experience. It has opened up a window into a completely different and new world. An oriental world that differs in so many ways from our world.

I am accustomed to being a foreigner or to being among foreigners, but here I belong to a minority. Sometimes I feel like Nina Hoss in "The White Masai". She is the only white person among the Africans. Here I am one of the very few whites among the Arabs, Africans and Asians. Being among and working with Africans, Arabs and Asians is nothing foreign to me. As a student in Hull, I had colleagues and supervisors of all stripes. I had somehow missed this experience. You can learn so much about other people, countries, traditions, religions, etc. and you learn a lot about yourself.

Beautiful pictures run through my head, and a few sad and less beautiful. All the trouble, arguments and bad moods with our project manager seem to be at once far away. Blown away by the desert wind, blown away right in the heart of the Empty Quarter. This is where it belongs. The anger, the project manager. Desert wind blow all away, away from us, never to return!

Beautiful pictures are those with my colleagues as we were driving through the city, went shopping, strolled around or went for a picnick, cooked and ate together, and had long conversations. My bicycle tours through the city, my solitary walks, the colours at sunrise and sunset, the clear air and the permeability of the Arabs. Without exception, all were friendly and helpful. I was chauffeured by local people in the car through the city, had to pay less or nothing in cafes and restaurants, people who wanted to have a photo with me or a photo of me, people who gave me a warm welcome and the absolute highlight was the wedding reception. An event that will stay with me forever in memory.

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                                                 My flat

                                Farewell ceremony

                               Waiting for the bus at the station in Ar'ar

                                Bus ride to Rafha

                                            Bengali colleague sleeping

Me in the back seat of a car, driven home by some Saudis. Suddenly one of them turned around and made this photo.

Part 26

Trip to Sakaka

Wednesday afternoon and two days before we're out of here. Since 'Ar'ar has a small airport with two daily flights to Riyadh and one to Jeddah and is served by small aircrafts, there was no possibility for us to fly out. We're eight or so tutors and our company should have booked far in advance. But as things were a bit uncertain as to when we would finish, when and from where we would want leave, etc. time passed and the planes got fully booked. It's also spring holidays, which makes it harder to find flights. My Egyptian colleague has for this reason booked a flight from Sakaka to Jeddah. Just how do you get to Sakaka? The city is 150 km away and the bus connections are not very good.
That's why he asked one of the security men if he could drive him.
We all stand at the door of our residence and say goodbye. Quite a few people are there. Me and one of the three Bengali colleagues are joining him on this ride. I wonder who our driver is. Suddenly a small, scrawny Arab jumps into the picture, dressed with a thobe but no headscarf and wriggles himself through the crowd. For God's sake! That going to be fun!
We get into the car, Egyptian to the front, me and the Bengali to the back and off we go. The driver starts with spinning tires and I wish I had stayed at home. The Bengali is thinking the same. We fasten our seatbelts and hold the door handles firmly. At the first left turn we feel the centrifugal forces of nature. The driver races over the motorway and takes the exit at the last moment and cuts a few other cars. From the far left he goes at once to the far right across three lanes to the exit. This is not what we learn in driving school.
The driver brakes at the checkpoint we have to pass. Since it is my first trip outside the city, it's explained to me that there are checkpoints at the entrances and exits of the towns, where if stopped, you must show your ID. We are waved through. Then we race fast over the highway. The driver is driving at 160 km / h, it's all the KIA can manage. The driver is talking to the Egyptian all the time, gesturing wildly and instead of looking at the street, he looks at the Egyptian.
The highway is, to my surprise in a very good condition. Two lanes in each direction with a strip of desert sand in between. Around us is desert. Since it is close to 7pm and the sun is slowly setting, it is a colourful spectacle. I look out the window and enjoy the view and can not get enough of it. It is strange, though there is nothing to see except sand and earth, I find the scenery fascinating. The Arabs always tell me: If you stand in the middle of the desert, you have the feeling to be the ruler of the world. This wide, infinite emptiness is really indescribable.
Then I turn around to ask the Bengal something. But he is praying at the moment and I must therefore wait.
"How do you know where Mecca is?" I ask him.
"My cell phone tells me" he says and shows me an app with compass. I have it too! I advise all westerners to download an application like this one, because this is the simplest way to have an overview of the praying times and not to stand in front of closed (supermarket) doors. You also have to know that there are time differences from place to place and people pray at different times.. Therefore, the app should be updated whenever you change the location.
As the Bengali colleague is done praying, we're thinking of whether we should ask the driver to drive a little slower or not. We ask. The Egyptian translates it, but the driver is still driving fast as hell and partially free-handed. Should we freak out and yell at him?
We drive through a few small villages and see an oversized laptop that serves as a billboard, various works of art that exist throughout the country and neon lights with the portraits of the King and a few other royal family members.
Eventually we arrive at the airport, say goodbye to the colleague and want to get back in the car. Both of us want to sit in the back. However, the driver has a different opinion. It is against his honour and asks one of us to take a seat up front. Actually he wants the Bengali in the passenger seat, because he can speak a little Arabic. Because he refuses, I have to take place in the front seat not to offend the driver.
The ride back is just as fast as the ride to the airport. As the Bengali colleague with his little knowledge of Arabic asks the driver to slow down, he just laughs and drives a little faster. A few miles away from the airport, there is a police check. We need to pull over and the driver has to speak to the officials. I see from the car that he's wriggling in front of the officials, gesturing wildly and God knows what he's saying to the officer. Eventually, he comes back with a paper in his hand. From the little Arabic we can understand, we understand that there was a speed camera somewhere and he was flashed with 152 instead of the permitted 120 km / h and must now pay a fine of 500 Riyals (about 100 pounds). In addition, the officer told him, he should drive us home and turn back. The reason why, we could not understand. Our language skills are not that good yet.
How to behave in such a case, if you have just been flashed and have to pay a hefty penalty? Wouldn't you drive slower and be quieter? Not so our driver. Since he is mad about this, he calls his boss while he's driving and explains the situation to him. It's not a good idea though, when you're doing 150 Km / h through the night and are holding a cigarette in the other hand. This situation seems to the Bengali and me ludicrous and start laughing. The driver doesn't seem to be amused and shouts at us probably the only words he knows in English: "Shut up! Shut up!" We're still giggling and can't stop it.
When we arrive in a city, he rushes through the traffic like in a video game, sometimes left, sometimes right, slows down abruptly, takes the curve with karacho, etc. When he sees a police patrol, he slows down, brakes and reverses. Traffic coming from behind does not seem to interest him. He gets out, goes to the patrol, speaks briefly with the officer comes back and says that he does not have to go back. The reason, we did not understand again. Somehow I have the feeling that we have gone lost. A short time later notices that even the driver, as we drive through a construction site and suddenly find ourselves in the middle of nowhere. Two minutes or so later, we see a car in the darkness coming from the other direction. The driver honks, brakes and moves backwards. The other car driver has realised the situation we're in and stops. The two drivers talk over the open windows and then we have to follow the other car out of there until we're shown which direction we have to go. Five minutes later we are on the right track.
Hardly on the highway, the driver is doing 160 km / h again and overtakes stupidly. He is still on the phone with one hand, holding a fag in the other hand and is steering with his legs. My colleague and I are thinking about as to whether we should freak out and yell at him or let him do what he wants. We choose the latter. I turn to the side and want to sleep in order not to see anything more of his driving. As soon as I'm dozed off, he asks for his iPad that is on the back seat. The colleague refuses to give it to him, but the driver gets mad. We understand that he does not want to play with it, but would like to turn on the Sat Nav. He turns it on and hands me the iPad. I turn towards the window and fall asleep again with the iPad on my knees. Occasionally I hear the voice of the Arab Sat Nav. My colleague has also fallen asleep and we both notice how the driver has slowed down. The trick worked!
As we arrive in 'Ar'ar, we must pass the checkpoint. We are stopped. The driver wants to pass quickly and tells the officer that we are professors and work at Ma'aden. The officer couldn't care less and asks for our passports. The driver shows him his ID and I give him my passport. The Bengali is waving from behind with his. I tell him to wait a bit, because we'll be surely waved through. The officer looks at the cover of my passport, realises that it is a European one and asks where I'm from. When I tell him, he repeats: Yunan? Then he smiles broadly. He hands me back the passport and we can drive through.
A few minutes later we arrive at the residence and when we are in the building, we can not stop laughing. The ride was so ludicrous and surreal.

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Part 25

On Monday we spent all day correcting and marking exam sheets and discussing final marks. About 200 exam papers had to be checked. But we didn't manage to go through all of them in one day. That's why we had to continue on Tuesday. At about noon, we were finally done. Then we had to wait for our bus driver. Until then, we passed our free time having lots of fun.
In the late afternoon I went with my Egyptian and a Bengali colleague to the city centre. For the last prayer of the day we went to one of the bigger mosques. I stayed as usual in the parking lot and waited for my colleagues to finish. As I was listening to the voice of the Imam I was looking at the evening sky. In a few days we'll be out of here. Crazy how time flies by! What remains is a pile of memories. Good ones and not so good ones. Anyway, for me this is / was a great experience. An experience that has changed me.
I'm still lost in my thoughts while looking into the night sky and don't notice how my colleagues are suddenly beside me. "Tea?" Asks one of the two. Sure! We drive to the centre and park in front of the restaurant Safa. That's the place where I can watch the tea master over his shoulder. I order for all three of us a cup, take three bottles of water and we sit down. At the table next to us is a father with his four little kids sitting. The kids look, even stare at me and fix me with their eyes. The father asks them not to stare, but they do not listen to him. I smile at them and say something in English. The kiddies look at me confused and start to laugh.
When we want to go, I go to the checkout. But I had to wait, because many people are there ordering or paying. Suddenly an Arab comes along and asks me what I want. I tell him that I would like to pay. Since he does not understand, he asks again. I tell him the same thing and wave with the Riyal notes in my hand. Then he gets it and asks what we have had. He tells me the teas are on him. How cool is that! Thank you!
When I get out to my colleagues, the Bengali says, "That was fast" "Yes," I reply, and best of all, we were invited!. "Shit! "He says. "Too bad that we did not eat!"
Then we walk for a while. Since I need a hand cream we go to the area with the women and children stores. Eventually, says the Egyptians: "Look at how women look at you! White and tall has one to be! "I did not realize that I'm stared at. When I turn around and look in the direction of a group of women, they look furtively away and giggle.
For today Wednesday, a school celebration is planed. Some students have prepared something for a month and today is their big day. Graduation ceremony in the auditorium. I'm in a particularly good mood and appear in an Arab costume. Early in the morning I come down the stairs dressed as Arab. The security men are delighted to see me dressed like this and want to have pictures taken with me. Then we wait outside in the morning sun for the bus driver. When he comes and sees me he greets me warmly. As the project manager comes, he shakes his head and says something derogatory. I do not care. In three days we will be out of here and we will never see him again. I am in a good mood today and I won't let anybody change it.
When we arrive at the Polytechnic, the fun continues. The security people come to me and take out their mobiles to take photographs. Everyone wants a photo of and with me. Then I go over to the classroom building. When the students see me, they freak out. Then we go through all the rooms and make many of photos. Then I go to the management. I go from office to office and all are very warm, amazed and delighted. Only our project manager is raging. Since my thobe is somewhat creased, a few students ask me to take it off and they bring it somewhere to be ironed. Just in time for the graduation ceremony they're back and help me to put it on.
One of the Bengali colleagues is the host of the show. He goes on stage, says a few words, asks the first act to come on stage and comes down to me and asks me to take over and continue, because he has stage fright. This comes out of nowhere and quite suddenly. He hands me the programme and says I should call all of them successively onto the stage, that's all. I am pleased. Today I am in a particularly good mood. After the first act, I get up on stage and jazz up the show. Eventually, our project manager appears in the audience. I wonder what he's doing here. He was against this ceremony and now he's sitting at the back next to his bootlickers and sweet-talkers. He looks at me with disgust. Since I realise that, I think to myself: "Now it's payback time!"
Sometime in the middle of the show, I say a few words about my experience here at SMP, in Ar'ar and in the country. Then the following sentence falls: "You can not change the country as a foreigner, Saudi changes you! So this wonderful country has changed me and broadened my horizons. Thank you, thank you all!"
My gaze sweeps over the audience and lands on the project manager. He shakes his head in disgust and revulsion. Oh, how I love it, oh how fun this is and I continue with the show. The best and most touching moment of the show is when a few students sing a song a-capella. The whole room is touched and then there are standing ovations. A big bravo to my Egyptian colleague who put a lot of effort and energy into this. Bravo!
When the ceremony is over, it is time to say goodbye. We won't see the students again and our Egyptian colleague is already flying this evening. A beautiful and joyful day takes a sad turn. But this is life! It's a coming and going. You come together, tie and bind to each other and some time later you say farewell. It is a strange feeling. We embrace with the students, make more pictures and then they are gone. We stay for lunch and have to wait for the bus driver. The ride home is very sad. Everybody is quiet, only our project manager is raging. What about? He heard that the management has planed a farewell party for us tomorrow and he doesn't want us to attend. The management wants to thank us with a small celebration for the good cooperation. Our project manager is against it and does not want to go and doesn't want us to go. He has several conspiracy theories in his mind and he threatens, warns and demands from us not to go. Otherwise, he'll stop talking to us and won't help us in future if we needed his help. But we have already discussed it and decided to go. I listen to my music on full blast in order not to have to listen to him and his screams.
When we arrive home, we disappear very quickly in our flats and at once there is peace. An hour or so later we dare slowly and silently out of our flats. We want to go downstairs to the ground floor to the Egyptian and must pass the open door of the project manager. As I scurry past, I see how he sleeps. Thank God!

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Here's the original song (opens in a new window)