Exerpts from entries:
“On the jumbo jet to Riyadh” A Boeing 747, the pride of the American aviation and avionics, inventions and industries; the heavier than air machine climbed the air, and conquered the sky in grace and power, honoring its creators. This same machine became my home for about ten hours. “Noise machines” A crescendo of high decibel bursts of noise woke me up from my afternoon nap. Something was going on, right behind my bedroom. I rushed to find out what was going on. It was the landlord, with two men nailing steel cages around the air conditioners using compressed air-hammer.
“The welcome party” As we approached the opened steel gate, I saw the place is huge. A concrete wall surrounds the farm. In its middle, there is a concrete house. Neon lamps were mounted on top of the walls. Similar lights defined the roof. The beautiful moldings on the façade are of typical Islamic design. Oriental rugs with exquisite patterns covered the floors. Four large circular plates of kubsi were placed on the rugs with enough space between them, to allow people to sit on the floor around them. “Driving license” As an American I could have obtained a Saudi driving license by submitting a copy of my valid American license, a copy of the picture and data page of my passport, the results of my eye exam and my blood type, the application fee, and a hanging folder to hold the documents and the fee. But, it did not happen that way. I made a mistake that brought unbelievable consequences.
“Potluck with friends” When the last person came in, my okra dish was ready. I had prepared it using fresh okra, fresh tomatoes, onions, garlic, and green peppers. I cut the okra and minced the other ingredients; I sautéed the mix, in olive oil, for about ten minutes. Afterwards I added water and tomato paste, and cooked the mix for an additional thirty minutes. When the dish was ready, I added lemon juice, instead of salt, and black and red, dried, ground peppers. Before we started eating, I warned everyone that the okra dish was unsalted.
“The veil” Faisal my neighbor went to Tunisia, his native country, for a summer vacation. He got married and his wife accompanied him when he returned to Buraydah at the beginning of the academic year. Few days after their arrival, they went to the gold market, in center city, to tighten a loose ring. They knew about the dress code in Buraydah, and they did all they could to comply.While they were waiting for the goldsmith to fix the ring, a bearded man, a mutawa, a religious policeman, accosted Faisal and told him to take his wife off the street. “She is defying God’s orders,” the mutawa said. “With her satanic dress she is corrupting the people of the city,” the mutawa continued.
“They smell pigeon feces” I was assigned room 15-4-3 to teach a Control Systems class. But the room smells: it had a hygienic problem. The day was hot and humid, and the noisy wall air conditioner was running at maximum fan speed, hence, maximum noise level. There was a strong foul smell that permeated every wall, and every corner. I opened the back door. Voila! Scores of pigeons flew away. The balcony was carpeted with pigeon feces; the top of the balcony rail was covered, the top of the outside protruding part of the air conditioner was also loaded with pigeon droppings. The fresh air intake section of the air conditioner sucked in fresh air that had gone over the excrement of the pigeons. The air was saturated with aerosol of feces.
“Women are too expensive” When we finished shopping, we took one of the unauthorized taxis back home. The young driver started to sing a love song. “To which of your wives are you singing?” I said, inviting comments. “To no one,” he said. “Why is that, you sound to be in love?” “I am not married,” he said with grief. “Why are you not married, you are young, and you have a car?” I continued. “They are too expensive.” “Who is too expensive?” I asked. “The women, I need at least 200,000 riyals to get married.” He said worriedly. “May God help you,” I commented.
“Lightning and thunder” In the afternoon, I was awakened by thunder. I looked at the window, and saw torrential rain hammering its glass panes. More lightning and thunder continued. The deafening sounds came from all directions, but they always followed the blinding lights. The rain was so heavy it seemed like coming from the ocean turned upside down, or like the wind had siphoned the ocean to the sky, and gravity pulled the water down. However, the storm did not linger, but its cooling effect did.
“The occupied apartment” At about ten in the evening we arrived at the gate of the Dammam College of Technology. The security guard checked the guest list for my name. He found it, and gave me the key to apartment 50-1-1. We parked just inside the fence, and walked toward building 50. We opened the door, and walked around to check the rooms. All air was stale. The plumbing was not functional, and the air conditioning units were out of repair. The tapestry of the armchairs and the couches were dirty and worn out. Besides, the apartment was occupied: cockroaches were everywhere crawling around. The apartment was not fit for humans. We walked out and drove away.
“The end” The end of two academic years in Buraydah is coming soon. Pleasant and unpleasant thoughts of my stay are stored in layers of my memory, to be recalled when needed, and in this book for you to read. I wrote about my experience without passing judgments. This is left to you the reader to make if you wish. But read and enjoy the differences. I believe you will laugh and you may learn something.
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