Dear Family and Friends,

Saudi Arabia being an “exotic” or different place and, of course, having very different standards for the behavior or women, it takes little prescience to suspect that you all are brimming with questions. Let’s see if I can answer a few:

Question: What am I wearing?

Legally, in public a woman must wear a black outer garment known as an abaya. Personally, I equate my abaya to a graduation robe: it is polyester, black and shapeless, it covers my shoulders and falls to my ankles. In a bid for self-respect, my abaya is a bit blingy… the sleeves and hem are embroidered and lightly silver-spangled. By some definitions an abaya should also cover one’s head. My abaya does not and nor am I required, legally, to cover my head. However, in deference to my new home’s sensibilities as well as to decrease unwanted attention, I keep my head covered with a black scarf known as a shayla.

When I stepped on to the Saudi Airlines plane in New York, I was (in my estimation) conservatively dressed in a white-striped long sleeved shirt, black slacks, and black flats. However, as other passengers took their seats and I realized that only two female passengers had both their faces and their hair uncovered, increasingly I began to feel uncomfortable. The other non-veiled woman, a serene South African woman who has lived in Saudi for over 5 years (!), sensed my nervousness and kindly dispensed advice such as “no need to put the abaya on until you arrive in Riyadh” and “if you can survive the first three months, you’ll grow to love it.” She deplaned at our first stop in Jeddah. And then I sat fastened into my seat stewing about when I should done my abaya.

Finally, I grabbed my wadded abaya, locked myself into the plane’s bathroom, and watched in the mirror as I disappeared behind flowing black robe. I couldn’t – I just couldn’t - make myself cover my head. When I self-consciously emerged from the bathroom, the lovely Saudi family sitting in front of me beamed and smiled and told me how pretty I looked in the abaya. I couldn’t help but smile. Flattery finds its way into every culture, does it not? I deplaned, went through immigration and customs without covering my head. However, that first night, when I left my hotel in Riyadh, I covered my head at the urging of the man assigned to by the Company to escort me for a dinner out. My shayla slips and slides and simultaneously frizzes and flattens my hair but I’ve kept my head covered in public ever since – with one exception. When I go running around our compound, I scandalize guards by tossing my shayla aside in favor of a black baseball cap. While I run, my abaya flaps about my ankles and causes more sweat than the actual exertion.

Understandably, I find wearing an abaya an enormous pain. I mean, it is black, it doesn’t breathe overly well, I’m constantly trying to brush away dust, and I must throw it on in almost all circumstances – even taking out the trash requires an abaya. But here’s the thing: I want – arguably, I need – another abaya that covers me from forehead to the tips of my toes. And when I acquire this abaya, I shall also buy a wahabi veil in order to cover my face. I am convinced that keeping myself fully covered will actually afford me more freedom. And I am willing to submit to further veiling for more freedom. Counter-intuitive, huh?

Question: What is daily life like?

So far, nothing here has been easy. I was told, when I first arrived, that my villa “had just been completed” – but within minutes of setting down my bags, I pulled out paper to start making a list of repairs. I couldn’t secure my front gate, there was no hot water in villa, the second bathroom stuffed up and overflowed, Internet access was intermittent (at best), and there was no gas to cook with. And soon, things got worse. Fixing the stuffed up bathroom necessitated shutting water off throughout the villa. And when water was restored, there was very little pressure, which in the end, necessitated my – finally – throwing a fit and inspiring three guys to make a special run in order to seek out and purchase a water pump. For weeks the entire villa sported a thick lair of dust but couldn’t be wiped down. There was no coffee and little food (I could eat fruit and yogurt and there were generous guys who would, upon request, pick up yummy take-out but…), and of course, no shower. It was a week before I could buy bath towels and just over three weeks before I acquired bed sheets.

Often, it has been easy to regard these issues as challenges to my ingenuity and instinct for survival. But, of course, sometimes these issues feel like intolerable problems. I teeter back and forth between these two feelings.

We teach Saturday through Wednesday. Just after the sun rises over the horizon, men and women together board a bus that (is supposed) to depart at 7 am. It never leaves on time; there are always stragglers. We women are driven to our campus first. We don’t really get a lunch break and we work from our time of arrival until 2:30 pm. Sometimes we go food shopping or run to the bank after work, but we are happiest when we get picked up on time and simply driven back to our compound. Work is exhausting.

I was the 7^th female teacher to arrive… and my welcome was nearly overwhelming. Not because my new colleagues were particularly happy to meet me per se but because they had been working double the time stipulated in the contract in circumstances far from ideal. More than once, I got the feeling that I had walked into the newest set of Survivor (the Saudi version). Having another body to share the workload with was very welcome and I began substitute teaching on my second day. Not long after I arrived, 3 more female Americans touched down. We now have 10 female teachers but there continue to be class assignment and resources challenges. Normal teaching is exhausting; our situation requires double the patience.

Question: What am I eating?

According to my students, Saudi Arabia is famous for a dish called kapsa. As I have yet to actually order or eat in a Saudi restaurant, I can only report that this is apparently a barbequed piece of meat with lots of spices. Accounts vary about whether or not I’ve actually eaten the dish. During my first week and then some without gas, a kind neighbor could be prevailed upon to bring us well-spiced bbq chicken or bbq fish served with enormous quantities of too-oily rice, mouth-watering flat bread (often accompanied by hummus), tabbouleh, and my favorite part (truly!) whole bags of peppery watercress (to be eaten like a salad). Apparently watercress is a… male stimulant here… but I can neither confirm nor deny this rumor.

When we finally got gas, we did not have water. When we finally got gas plus water, I began to stock the kitchen. I had brought some basics from the States: a small Belgique pot that goes on the stove or in an oven, my Global Cooking knife, a used rolling pin, a can opener, a coffee grinder + French press, and my copy of The Joy of Cooking. Our kitchen came only with a few plastic plates, a few pieces of silverware, a few glasses, a carafe, and a metal tea kettle. Slowly, I’ve added a few non-stick pans, a plastic mixing bowl, a pie pan, and just the other day, I purchased a heavy-bottomed pot for cooking pasta.

As far as food goes, I find it easier to shop in Saudi Arabia (versus Korea). I suppose this to be because Saudi Arabia doesn’t seem to have a strong food sensibility and it imports everything. Fresh vegetables such as carrots and onions (white or red only) and potatoes tomatoes and zucchini are easy to locate – but there is no celery. I have been aching for celery so bad I dreamed of finding celery in a secret room in our nicest grocery store! *sigh* I am still working on a substitute for celery. Anyway, I can purchase dark Turkish coffee, dairy products, some spices, lots of nuts, a decent number of baking supplies, super-sugary cereals, and millions of olives. My first and second attempts at cooking were bland, bland. However, as I accumulate more ingredients, my cooking is improving.

Question: How are things, really?

For now, things are ok. Truly…

Oh, goodness! Literally, just as I type this, there is an unnaturally loud sound of rushing water coming from our second bathroom. Oh, this is not good… But have I answered some of your questions? Do you have other questions? Please do send them via comments or e-mail… although the remainder of today will be frittered away upon fixing this latest water problem.

So, yes, truly, things are ok but nothing in my world is easy. And things’ll be better tomorrow… “In šāʾ Allāh.”

Fondly yours,

Laura

Pretty spices...

A view of Sakakah (my new hometown).