NATURAL PEARLS
Jana McPherson
We had lived in the Family Housing Compound in
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia for 3 months on a temporary Visa. In order to
remain for the duration of my husband's contract, we had to go to the
Island of Bahrain in the Saudi Gulf (aka the Persian Gulf, depending
on which side you were looking from). Bahrain had been a British
protectorate since the early 70s thus the culture was far less strict
with Muslim regulation. We had been told that getting our Permanent
Visas would be a highlight of our time in the Middle East.
In Bahrain, women could drive, clothing restrictions were far less
conservative, and we could have pork to eat or bars to go into if
this is what we wanted. I learned from women in the Riyadh compound
that Bahrainis' believed their island was the location of the actual
Garden of Eden and that this island was the very last place on earth
were natives dived in numerous beds for natural (as opposed to
cultured) pearls. Apparently prices were very, very competitive and
Bahrain was the place to get your pearls if you wanted them. We had
heard wonderful things about one old hotel on the island that was an
authentic old style operation. We were told that by reserving a room
on the pool side of the hotel, we might be able to observe weddings
or other activities Westerners usually just didn't get to see.
Well, I was intrigued. We made our reservations. Mostly, I was ready
to have a break from Riyadh. Our compound was 45 minutes out into the
desert from Riyadh, then 20 more minutes from the gates to the
compound. I couldn't drive, so was feeling quite stir-crazy. In the
time we had been there, I couldn't complain about our accommodations
which were very nice, but I had definitely determined I wasn't
interested in the Family Housing Compound Social Culture.
I had innocently signed up for an aerobics class and quickly learned
that if you didn't play bridge, you probably didnít get
invited to anything. I hate games like bridge. Were that not enough,
I learned about the "levels" of society which were apparently
important here amongst residents. I heard women talk about how "one"
didn't associate with "those" who were more than one level above or
below "one's own" level. It took me a couple of days to figure out
what the heck this meant and once I did figure it out, I knew I would
be seen as a renegade again. My 2-year-old daughter had already
formed a fast friendship with a child whose family level was quite
different than ours. I liked the child; I liked the Mom - oh well;
they could just be mad at me, I was apparently circulating "out of
level."
I had already "offended" some compound "movers and shakers" by
choosing not to go to a tea that was "honoring" the wife of the San
Francisco Bechtel CEO. I didn't go because 1) all the available
babysitters had been swooped up, 2) it was 115 degrees out and I
simply didn't feel like a) getting dressed up to walk four blocks to
b) end up drenched in sweat to c) go to a lady's tea and d) itch the
whole time. Lastly, 3) I had already met this woman at a Bohemian
Club function back home, introduced by my father-in-law who knew both
these people personally and I simply wasn't impressed with the event.
I also knew from the discussion I had with this woman when I met her
that these events were ones she did not enjoy herself, but saw as
"duty." So, following logic that made perfect sense to me, I didn't
consider the impact my choice might have on others who were
entrenched in Family Housing Compound Culture. I later learned many
of these people were ex-career military or military brats. Gee, had I
known that before, I could have forecasted there could be value
clashes.
So, I was ready to head for the desert island! We had been told it
would take "about 3-5 days, enshalla," for our Visas to be processed.
The key word here was, "enshalla," which means, "If Allah so wills
it." This phrase was used regularly in Saudi culture to shut up
impatient ex-pats that were not used to the slower pace of desert
culture. "Enshalla" had become kind of an inside joke among ex-pats
and was translated to mean, "whenever the heck the Saudis feel like
getting around to it." Americans and English compound residents
especially were convinced Allah had nothing to do with it!
I was a bit concerned about not knowing just how long it would take,
but we were taking about all our paycheck with us, so I wasn't too
concerned. Surely, since it was in the best interest of my husband's
Saudi Construction Company to get our Visas processed, surely they
would look out for us. We had a lot to learn.
We flew to Bahrain. The hotel was marvelous, our rooms were great and
upon seeing our small children two or three of the room maids
approached us to say they would baby sit if we wanted to go out on
our own! This practice was very common in the Middle East and was
entirely safe. It felt like we were about to enjoy a real
vacation!
First thing, pool toys in hand, we headed with the 3 kids, aged 1
months, 2 and 8 for the pool. The only thing we hadn't thought about
was the humidity level. In the desert environment of Riyadh, we had
grown quite used to very hot and dry weather with constant desert
wind. Bahrain was as hot but wet-wet-wet with humidity! The kids made
a beeline outside and it was all we could do to get their inflatable
"swimmies" blown up and on their arms in time. My one-year-old son
had no fear, headed straight for and straight into the water. I
gasped, ready to shriek, then relaxed as I saw a young Saudi man
catch my son as he leaped and laugh tossing him up in the air and
bouncing him in the water. My son giggled with delight. He was not
only unafraid of the water, he was unafraid of strangers.
My 2-year-old daughter followed a bit slower but with equal
enthusiasm and also leaped towards this young man. He caught her as
well and the three were playing and bobbling around as if this was
all the most natural thing in the world. My husband and I hurried to
the side of the pool and thanked the young man and got ready to
retrieve the children. The young man said, "I'll play with them, you
go get lounge chairs and get settled." We thanked him, looked at each
other and grinned. This was getting better and better! Our older
daughter, as was typical, was a bit more cautious, but even she was
pretty quickly in the pool and all four were fast at play.
We got lounge chairs and sat and watched. We actually got to order
plates of barbecued, skewered lamb, chicken and huge prawns served
with vegetables and saffron rice from the poolside cabana. I seem to
recall such a plate cost about $6. This was great! After awhile, the
kids' sense of smell got the better of them and they came for food
bringing the young man with them. We thanked him profusely and
offered to share our food. He sat and we chatted. He told us he was
on the island preparing to go back to Saudi Arabia after being out of
the country for several years getting his education. He told us our
children reminded him of his nieces and nephews that he had missed
very much. We ate and continued to chat and he continued to tell us
his story.
It turned out his mother had found him a bride and had called to tell
him he was to go home to marry. We asked, "Why the stop in Bahrain?"
and he got very quiet. Then he explained to us that he believed he
needed to come here as a transition time to begin to get used to
Middle Eastern culture before going home. He explained that once he
returned to Saudi Arabia not only must he marry the woman his mother
had chosen (a distant cousin he had never met) and resume the Muslim
faith, he would be expected to take on the family business for his
father. He explained that after so many years of Western living in
Europe and the USA, this was not easy for him. As long as he stayed
in Bahrain, his mother knew he was preparing and there was no
pressure. He was struggling to let go of one world to assume his
traditional responsibilities as a "good" son.
We knew that in Saudi culture, the mother was in charge of family and
faith and the father was in charge of survival and support. Rules and
traditions were very much set and choices were few. We had learned
that often college aged boys were encouraged to "go sow their wild
oats" outside of the country in cultures that were more accepting of
such behavior until they were ready to assume a "mature life" Saudi
style. The effect this indubitably had on the rate of children born
out of wedlock and raised without their fathers in Western culture
aside, we were quite impressed with the serious, thoughtful approach
this young man was taking to his inevitable return home. We asked how
long he thought he would stay and he told us he would stay until he
felt ready to go home. We left the pool waving and laughing to each
other that we would probably see him the next day. We were not
surprised to hear him answer, "Enshalla."
The next day we headed out to see what we could of Bahrain. The
consulate where we could process our papers wouldn't be open for
another day. I had been told that the souks here were amazingly cheap
and that I should get any clothing my kids would need for the
duration of our stay in Saudi here. We decided to walk with our son
in his stroller for as long as he would stay in it. Immediately, I
knew Bahrain was different than Saudi as the inevitable black
shrouded beggar woman sitting at a corner with her galvanized tub of
soft drinks actually tugged at my skirt to get my attention as we
passed by. In Riyadh, the women never ever actually would touch you.
Selling soft drinks on street corners was one of the few ways women
could earn a living in this culture and rules were very strict about
protocols. I had heard that the cosmopolitan nature of this island
had good points and bad. I definitely preferred the less assertive
composure of the Saudi soft drink women. But, here in Bahrain, thanks
to the Western influence that gave permissions that would not be
acceptable in Saudi Arabia, the same rules didn't apply. Again, I had
lots more to learn.
The souks were just as amazing as we had been told. By noon, we
hadn't come close to covering them. My husband, who hates shopping,
was being pretty reasonable and we agreed that we would just walk
until we (the children and I) were sated, then take a cab back to the
hotel. I bought lots of clothes for the kids. When I saw many women
heading up a very narrow stairway to a second floor, I couldn't
believe my luck! I had been told about "crate sales" where freight
boxcars were emptied and the goods were dirt-cheap. This happened
always on the second floor of the store. I headed up the stairs in
the throng, with my husband and the children following. The crate was
from Indonesia and was full of hand-embroidered children's clothing.
It was exquisite and absolutely CHEAP! I began to make a pile of
clothing to purchase. Here is where I could get things for my own
kids and send home wonderful treasures for the children of my friends
at home as well! I was fully occupied pawing through the brightly
colored piles and my older daughter was right with me happily doing
the same. My husband was kind of across the room with our other two
small children as I recall. There were women of all types, sizes and
colors in this room and we all had the same thing in mind. Spoken
language did not matter, we all communicated beautifully in the realm
of shopping; even helping each other by tossing clothes back and
forth that appeared to be the right sizes for the children who were
with us. No doubt he felt intimidated by this morass of female-style
glee.
Then, I became aware of someone behind me a bit too close in the heat
of this room. I looked back and noted it was a young man. He looked
right into my eyes, something unusual, I knew. Attributing it to the
more relaxed attitudes in Bahrain, I simply moved away and went to
the next table to gain more space for myself and went about looking
through the bins. Apparently this was not enough. Suddenly, there he
was behind me again and again he was too close. I certainly didn't
feel comfortable, gave him a sideways glare and moved once more.
Apparently this was an even bigger mistake. This time he was right
behind me, and pushed right up against me and I could feel his
erection right through his gown. Oh, yes, Bahrain was different all
right.
I dropped my accumulated pile of clothing, muttered to my daughter to
follow me, stuck my elbow straight into the abdomen of the man, hard,
and (hang propriety) hollered across the room to my husband that we
were leaving NOW. I could only hope my husband would be attuned
enough to hear a note of urgency in my voice. As my husband plowed
his way through the swarm, the man watched and began to retreat, so I
felt a bit relieved. My daughter protested that she wanted the
clothes she had picked and I told her to just do as she was told. I
had been told that in Bahrain, the police were not nearly as strict
and the men might get predatory especially with young American women.
There was no way I was going to let this go any further. When my
husband reached me, I just muttered, "Let's go now! I'll tell you
outside." and I began to walk down the stairway. My daughter was
loudly protesting about what she had left behind. My husband was
totally in the dark about what was going on but followed. Outside, I
still felt frightened enough to just mutter, "Let's go!" and I
quickly led the way not looking back. We walked a couple of blocks
away from that area of the souks into another different kind of souk
before I felt comfortable enough to stop and look back. I was quite
relieved to see the man had not followed. I remember that this souk
was filled with silk fabrics on bolts wafting gently and gaily about
in the tropic breezes of the city. Only then could I begin to relax.
I explained what had happened and my husband looked stunned. I don't
think my daughter ever forgave me for leaving those clothes behind
and there was no way I could explain this adult dilemma to her.
Taking another deep breath, I looked around again and noticed we were
at the beginning of the Pearl Souks. I could see my husband was
quickly running out of patience, but I was hoping to distract my
daughter. Probably pushing patience levels to their limit, I took my
daughter by the hand and went inside enough of the booths to
determine that what I had been told was true, a nice string of
natural pearls would cost us about $1000. Then unable to ignore any
longer the look on my husband's face, I gave in, we hailed a cab and
went back to the hotel and the pool. The young man was there, he
played with the kids again, we relaxed. It had been quite a day! I
decided then and there that we needed to be a bit less adventurous
for the rest of the trip. One thing we had impressed upon us before
we came to Bahrain was that Americans did not want to put themselves
into any legal situations here.
The next day, we all went to the consulate to see about processing
the Visas. I noted the lady at the corner tugged at my skirt again,
this time a bit more insistently, as we passed and decided I might
walk on the other side of the street from then on. At the Consulate,
my husband had to go into a room where it wasn't appropriate for the
children to be, so we waited in an anti-chamber while he went in. He
was told they "had not received our Visa information from the Saudi
Authorities, thus there was nothing they could do." He was told they
had no way of knowing when the authorization would be made and it was
up to us to check back to see if papers had arrived as we chose. We
decided to go back to the hotel and relax some more knowing we would
be here at least three more days. The kids were completely happy to
spend the day around the pool playing with the young man. The cabana
made it very easy for us to get sodas and food that fit our lifestyle
nicely. This was good.
I really don't recall much about the next days that passed except
that they were very pleasant. We saw bits of the island at a time but
spent most of our time around the pool with the kids. We took a
marvelous walk through the fresh fish market and saw sea creatures we
had never seen before or since for sale. The fisherman's daughter in
me was dying to buy some of these exotic fish to grill and sample,
but I restrained myself knowing there was no way for us to cook them
ourselves. We took some terrific portraits of the kids on the hotel
balcony. We met a very nice Scottish couple and their three children
in the souks and decided spontaneously to get lunch together. They
came back with us to our hotel for the afternoon and, of all things,
a pizza dinner ordered by take-out! In three days, my husband took a
cab back to the consulate and was told to come back the next day. We
still weren't alarmed and were more focused upon enjoying ourselves.
My husband went to check on the paperwork again and it still had not
arrived.
The weekend came. Sure enough, on Friday night we received a note at
the desk telling us there would be a wedding by the pool that
evening. We were told rather sternly to close our curtains to give
the guests privacy. In this part of the world, traditional women do
not show their faces publicly and prefer to cover up their clothing
in a loose black tent of fabric as well. I had noted in Riyadh that
it was not unusual to see painted toenails in glittery spiked heels
peek out from under the black wraps. I had seen quite a few labels of
designer jeans as well through the gauze of the fabric. But I was
still curious to see the women as an unveiled group.
In a private setting like this, I had been told, they could remove
their black shrouds and show off their party clothes. It was up to
hotel guests to honor their ability to do so. Soon we heard the
distinctive sounds of Middle Eastern musicians warming up their
instruments. The music began. Wonderful smells of exotic foods wafted
up the building. I wanted to go join the festivities! This was
torture! It wasn't long before I knew I was going to have to peek
through the curtains somehow. I figured the chances of getting caught
from 8 floors up were worth taking. I wanted to see this! The women's
party was being held here. The men's party was across town. My
husband might get in trouble peeking, I figured, but I would not.
Very cautiously, I peeked. The tiny crack I created surely
couldnít be seen from below. The phrase, "the walls have eyes"
took on a whole new meaning for me. What I saw was everything I had
heard was true and more. The area around the pool had been
transformed with gaudy sparkly ornaments. Two thronelike chairs under
a contrived canopy of sorts sat on a raised flower-bedecked platform
awaiting the arrival of the bride and the groom. Upon entering, the
women quickly removed their black garments to reveal elegant sequined
gowns of all shapes and colors. There was nothing conservative here!
Everything from bejeweled hair ornaments to very high, very spindly
bejeweled heels walked around the patio below. Sounds of female
voices in language foreign to me and much laughter filtered upwards.
I saw women run to greet and hug each other. Their joy at being in
this place at this time was evident. The crowds slowly built, and I
was surprised to notice how little fanfare, if any at all,
accompanied the bride as she entered and took her seat on one of the
chairs. This was different indeed! As she sat, some gifts were piled
in front of her on the dais. Mostly, the women went up on the dais,
greeted the bride with hugs and either handed her something or placed
a piece of jewelry on her. This went on quite awhile and I became
distracted. My family was enjoying another pizza in the background
and watching a video.
I heard a bit of commotion and peeked again. I saw a small group of
men enter the premises. I was a bit surprised, but simply watched.
None of the women seemed disturbed. I figured these men must be
family. I learned later that one of the men undoubtedly was the groom
who was seeing his bride unveiled for the very first time in front of
my watching eyes. But, this was not apparent to me. What was apparent
was that the men didnít remain for very long. When they left,
apparently the bride went too. I didn't actually see this, but
apparently, it is customary for the groom to pick up his bride and
take her to the men's party where, veiled, she would similarly
receive gifts from the men.
The actual marriage was an unceremonious civil signature proceeding
that no one saw. I was intrigued to know that in this culture, a
woman did have the right to refuse to marry at that time. To do so,
however would shame her family and few women were so brazen. She also
could later divorce the husband simply by returning to the record
bureau and by proclaiming three times out loud, "I divorce him."
Getting herself back to the record bureau might be a not-so-small
obstacle given the restrictions on women driving, but she did have
the "right." Of course, were she to choose to do this, she was
expected to return to her birth family in shame and she lost all
rights to access to her children. All possessions remained with the
husband except what jewelry she received on her wedding day, which
was considered her separate property. Seeing this take place in front
of my own eyes gave my visions of women wearing armloads of Bedouin
jewelry as they shopped a whole new meaning.
In modern times, it was no longer customary except in very
traditional weddings for the bride to receive the traditional
handmade silver bride's necklaces that contained verses from the
Koran. In modern times, wearable gold sufficed. An Arabic woman would
use these gifts of gold as the only means of exchange she had sole
say over for the rest of her life. Depending upon her particular
husband, she might be given money to manage with his permission. But,
anything she wanted that she did not have his permission to purchase
or that he withheld permission for her to buy could only be purchased
using her own resources. Now I understood why the women were such
hagglers in the market! I had already observed women buying
bracelets, then selling the very same bracelets at another stall a
little while later. It struck me the bracelets were just commodities;
these shrewd women were making themselves money in the
transaction!
I had been told by a Jordanian woman who was willing to talk frankly
that she felt sorry for Western women, whom she saw as lonely and
unsupported in our culture. Even with her Western education, she
vastly preferred life in a family compound in the company of her
extended family. She told me that women in Arabic culture were quite
equal, in her opinion. She explained they simply had different
concerns and responsibilities than the men. Watching this wedding
helped me understand her perspective regardless of my own bias. The
wedding finally ended and by morning you never would have known it
was there.
We had been in Bahrain for a week now. We took a look at our funds
and realized we had better call the company and let them know we were
getting low on cash so they could make whatever arrangements they
wanted to make for the remainder of our stay while the "powers that
be" processed our papers. My husband called and was quite surprised
to receive an irritated reply. The company was not sympathetic and
seemed more concerned about my husband's lost days from work on the
airport project than anything else. When he got off the phone, my
husband told me they were not intending to send any money and that he
was to get us back there ASAP. When I asked just how they expected us
to accomplish this, he shrugged.
The following morning, he headed right off to the consulate again. He
came back at noon to let me know he had been ignored all morning and
had made no headway. He called his company again and reported that he
had made little progress. The conversation became involved and my
husband seemed distinctly uncomfortable that the children were so
noisy in the background. I decided to get them out of the room.
I took the children down to the pool where, once again the young man
was lounging by the pool. He greeted us warmly and took the children
right into the pool for a swim and some play. I was happy to sit and
read a book awhile. Time passed, the children ate lunch from the
cabana barbecue and I took them back up to the rooms for naps. My
husband hadn't ever come down and he wasn't there when I got to the
rooms. He returned later looking grim faced. He had gone again to the
Consulate and had made no progress at all. He said he had felt
treated "like a white slave." My visions of having the money to
purchase just a short strand of natural pearls vanished as he spoke.
We were in a serious situation. The daily hotel bill for a family of
five was not cheap. We decided to call other hotels to compare costs
and were relieved to learn at least it would cost us no less
elsewhere, so we could remain here.
We stopped any excursions around the island and realized it was
unlikely we would take the trip to visit the supposed site of the
Garden of Eden. What faced us was the difference between working for
an American company abroad and a Saudi company abroad. I am not sure
we have ever felt more alone. Meanwhile, it was steaming hot outside
and the air-conditioning in the rooms wasn't doing a very good job of
keeping up. The children were hot and grumpy. We decided to head back
for the pool.
The young man was there once more and seemed delighted at the
prospect of diversion in playing with our children once more. My
husband and I joined them all in the pool this time and we took turns
bobbing a big ball around between ourselves. The game got rougher and
I got out of the pool. They even got some other guests to join in the
game, but the children left the pool and watched from the poolside.
It became "big boy" play, but everyone seemed to enjoy watching these
men relax and act like kids themselves for a little while.
Eventually, they all got out and came to get food. The young man
joined us. To my surprise, my very private husband began to share our
dilemma with the young man and to ask his advice. The young man
quickly told my husband to follow him. I figured we had crossed some
invisible line of customary protocol once more. Once again cultural
rules took precedence and the rules here were very different.
As I sat and watched the interaction between the two, I recalled how
we had unknowingly committed a major gaff when, hearing that my
husband's boss' wife had given birth to a new baby, I had whipped out
my knitting needles and made up a quick baby coverlet as a gift. I
had wrapped it up, and not having met the "boss' wife" yet, decided
to send it off with my husband to work to give to his boss to pass on
to the wife. The morning I did so, I received a call from the wife of
the British Project Manager within a couple of hours explaining I
must never ever send a gift to work. Apparently, to send a gift
through the business was seen as offering a bribe. Luckily, this boss
was western educated and did not take offense, however the word got
back to me quickly that I should have hired a car and delivered the
gift in person to their home, giving the wife a chance to choose to
receive me or not. The Project Manager's wife laughingly explained
that she had not been received when she had delivered her own gift
and that this was not to be taken personally. This was all on my mind
as my husband walked off.
He came back in an hour or so grinning. He told me it was time to go
upstairs and that he and I were going out to dinner. It was all
arranged that one of the hotel ladies would watch the children and
feed them dinner. Rather stunned to hear this happy turn of events in
what had seemed an impossible situation, I asked and I was shushed.
This did not go over well with me, but I was learning to let go of my
usual ways at least while we were half way around the world.
When we got upstairs, my husband pulled a wad of cash out of his
pocket. My mouth fell open and I expressed astonishment. Grinning, my
husband told me that the young Saudi man had insisted on giving us
this money. It was not appropriate for the men to discuss such an
arrangement in front of women and children, so the young man had
taken my husband to a place they could speak privately and to
exchange addresses and telephone numbers in Riyadh so the loan could
be repaid. The young man had disclosed that he had decided to return
to his family over the weekend and his home was not far from our
compound in Riyadh. He added that it was the chance to play with our
children that had helped him realize he wanted to be with his own
family again. No papers had been signed involving this personal loan
and only handshakes were exchanged. My husband made it clear I was
not to mention that I even knew about this to the young man the next
time we saw him. In this culture such exchanges were "between men,"
period.
We calculated the hotel bill. I must admit, briefly, I had visions
that perhaps we could swing purchase of a very small strand of
Natural Pearls, but that idea vanished with the tally as I realized
that the real "pearls of no price" were already in my husband's
pocket. The next day finally, our papers were ready by noon. We had
one more afternoon around the pool where we wistfully looked around
at the blazes of bougainvillea that bloomed on the trellises of the
hotel patio. The next day, we packed our bags, went to the airport,
bought tickets and took the short flight back to Riyadh and what for
me would be nine more months of self-imposed incarceration in our
beige compound home in a beige desert so far away from home.
The young man was repaid through the mail or a courier. We tried to
invite him over, but he declined. He communicated he had now married
and was too busy with his reclaimed family life. We never again saw
the young man and I do not even recall his name.
NATURAL PEARLS
© March 2000, Jana McPherson