Do Not Cut the Bougainvilleas

The king has given us all the day off. Probably trying to keep his subjects happy. The first Saturday in the kingdom that I actually get to spend as a Saturday! Decided to do some gardening. Trying to figure out why I’m paying a gardener. It was a nice day. We went from winter straight into summer. One minute shoes, next minute sandals. It changes as quickly as that.

The cats enjoyed me being at home and pottering in the garden. I stuck to the patio and was getting pots ready. Planted seeds – basil, thyme and oregano as well as some green pepper seeds which I had been saving since November. (The one and only time I made a salad.) In addition, I planted broccoli. Imagine that – broccoli!

Got the seedlings from Elle’s Pakistani neighbour. Really appreciated the gesture. She added some succulents and a very special geranium. All cuttings. Can’t wait to see the results.

My cactus has flowered for the second time since I got here and there is a white rose to complete the picture.

The aloe is also flowering. It is as confused as I am by the sudden onset of summer.

I managed to grow rosemary off three cuttings. It is a first for me. The geraniums are doing well and the stupid snails agree.

I have two bougainvilleas. Must remember to tell the gardener NOT TO PRUNE THEM EVER AGAIN.

Next time (it’ll have to be my Thursday-Saturday) I will have to tackle the side and front. Going to change the side into a sunflower show with three different varieties – standard, teddy bear and music box. I hope it looks as good as it sounds. In the front it will be a mixture of anything that flowers.

My grandfather loved gardening. My mother still does.

Hanging Village

The city where I live is on a high plato. I never realize how high till I travel to the escarpment where one can look down into the valley. It seems strange, because one doesn’t think of Saudi in terms of mountains.

The Hanging Village is precariously perched on the side of a mountain, at the bottom of a huge cliff, with an even bigger drop to the floor of the valley. God knows how the original inhabitants got there, and how they made a living. But they were safe from invading Turks, and that is probably all that mattered at the time. Apparently they used ropes and baskets to get themselves in and out of there. It has long since been abandoned, and in its place is a modern reconstruction. A cable car takes one down to the village.

The houses were made of stone and wood and as one wonders up and down the narrow pathways, it is still possible to find original remnants such as carved wooden doors and tools.

One thing is for certain, it is not for the fainthearted or those suffering from vertigo. Even today. The Saudis don’t seem to worry or care too much about railings and safety. I was intrigued and wanted to see everything, but I kept to the side of the mountain and had my feet firmly planted at all times. Carpets are scattered around on rooftops where one can sit down and have a picnic. I took pictures, but kept my distance. Zoom lenses are marvelous!

Of course the small mosque is definitely a more recent addition.

It was spring when we visited. How fortunate, because spring only lasts one day.

Across the valley on the other side of the mountain, a modern village is clearly visible. Don’t know how modern, but at least there’s life. Can’t imagine how one survives in such a harsh, inhospitable environment. But there it is.

We went on a quiet day. So quiet that I was struck by the awesomeness of the vast landscape. At some point the birds and the monkeys annoyed each other. Still not sure whether it was birds of prey or crows. But the sounds matched the scenery and provided us with a good soundtrack.

Saudi never ceases to amaze me. It is not merely a country of oil wells and armies; princes and sheiks; white robes and black abayas. If you care to explore, look at it more closely, venture out, you’ll find a beauty that can be treasured. Made more special by the fact that not many people get to see it. Ever.

Fun in the Sun

People in the southern hemisphere know about sport. They know how to throw a ball; catch a ball; kick a ball; hit a ball; run, swim, jump and even somersault.

So here I am, stuck in the Middle East, doing my first sports-day at school. Sports day, my foot! Stupid little games. And these kids can’t. They simply can not. Hoola-hoop – not too bad. Even the boys. Kick a ball – gets better. Beanbag toss. My item.  No-one knows how to throw, let alone aim. About fifty kids, (aged 8 – 12) – not a single child managed to toss a beanbag into a bucket 3m away. Less than half of them got it into a bucket 1.5m away. I found it uninspiring and not fun. Not fun at all.

Then followed the races. 

·         Sack races in sacks that were too small and therefore tore.

·         Egg-and-spoon races with wooden eggs. I remember using real eggs and real spoons and if yours fell and broke, you were out of the race. At least there was an element of fun in it! (Okay, maybe we were older!)

·         The dress-up race was stupid. (I thought)

·         The water race, which could have been fun, got canceled.

·         And finally, we were to finish with an obstacle race. My effort of bringing some fun and excitement into it. Bit of a challenge. Well, the bloomin challenge was that the teachers never got the hang of it. They were the challenge.

The whole thing is cock-eyed. The teams aren’t equally spread. In my Year 6 class of eleven, five are green and one is yellow. Two red and two blue. So it might even out with perhaps the year 3’s having more yellow and less green (not so), but even then it means the top-end of one team is loaded. Secondly, numbers are per se uneven. You would then have red with 15 members and green with 13. That means that in the green house two people have to run twice – naturally the strongest two. The younger ones get too confused. So the red team has a spread of talent whereas the green team get to run their best athletes twice. The biggest team will always be at a disadvantage. And so it goes on.

To top it off, and about this I could go ballistic, there’s this one Pakistani teacher with her holier-than-thou attitude. (Her being Pakistani is not the point.) Never opens her mouth. Never makes any contribution. Never gives an opinion… until the actual day of the event. Arrives in her high heals and evening gown. (Well, almost!)  A round robin means you change at set intervals and when every one is done. And normally you’d go clockwise. If they choose to go anti-clockwise here, I would still accept. But crossing diagonally, makes no sense! Not to me, anyway.

And so, back to the races. Madam High Heels, waits till we’ve finished three of the races, and then tells me that the red house has one extra child which hadn’t been taken into account. I got annoyed and responded “Where were you when we made the arrangements? Why didn’t you say something then?” She quickly (which is not very quickly) ran to Madam Headmistress, who doesn’t enjoy any of this anyway. And then proceeded to take over the arrangements for my said obstacle race. Could have been ‘cause I was standing, at that point, with my hands in my pockets, staring into space. Needless to say: the kids saved the day ‘cause they carried on with the race regardless of the ‘minor’ changes and adjustments made by Paris-bloody-Hilton. (Excuse my French)  

So why do I feel the need to share this boring account? Honestly! Basically because I want to say: I miss good sport. I really, really miss good sport. For that matter, any sport. And secondly, ‘cause I needed to blow off steam.

Network Not Working

Day 1 - Internet problems. Very frustrating to say the least. So dependent on my fb connections. I can do e-mails at school, but no fb. Boo-hoo. Went to the service provider but the two young men only speak Arabic. I just refused to leave and finally got one of the customers to translate for me. Not sure whether we actually achieved anything, but at least I got them to smile. I talk to them in Afrikaans and they find it very confusing coz it sounds similar to Arabic – lots of ggghh and guteral sounds. I mean, they don’t speak English, so why bother with it. Said I should delete the program and re-load it. (Didn’t work)

Day 2 – Emotionally drained. Decided not to attempt any further communication with the service provider. One needs to be mentally strong. So I gave it a rest.

Day 3 - It seems the internet payment had dissapeared down a black hole. I tried my best to explain that the money on the pre-paid card went off, that I had therefore paid, and that it wasn’t my fault it didn’t register with them. And the young man kept telling me that there was no money in the account. Going around in circles. Saw the other customers getting somewhat irritable. Irritable enough to actually start translating. No choice but to pay again. This time got a receipt, made them load it and tested it on my laptop there and then. Said I would be back next month. The response: ‘No need, you can do it from home with a pre-paid card’!!! *silent yelling going on inside head*

‘No, I don’t think so. You’ll have to put up with me every month . Sorry for you. I came here to make money, not lose it!’

Walking home, a Pakistani doctor stopped to give me a lift. Stays in the same compound as me but I’ve never seen him in my life. Had his toddler with him. Got in with great trepidation and only did so because I wasn’t wearing walking shoes. In this harsh country, kindness is a rare gift and it touches me deeply everytime I experience it. Realise now how out of place I must have looked – white lady, black abaya, orange shoes and scarf, bag over shoulder and briefcase in hand – nobody here walks, especially not women. It’s not dangerous. It’s just not done. And here’s me, peak-hour traffic, trying to make my way home on foot. No wonder the poor doctor stopped. I flatly ignored him at first and thought it was some stupid Saudi harrassing me. Only looked up when he spoke in perfect English. Now that, the Saudis can’t do.

Turns out the “Pakistani” doctor is actually from Kashmir.

‘So does that make him Indian then?’

"No. it makes him Kashmiri'. 

Crossing Roads

Will convinced me to go shopping after school (4 o’clock) for the sake of company. He went to Panda (Pick-n-Pay/Asda) and I went to Mango. (The one and only.) Mango had a sale and if you are buying for someone young and slim and opposite seasons, bargains are to be found. (Some lucky kid at home better be grateful!) So we’re meant to catch the 5 o’clock bus – which came dead on time. I watched all the Filipino ladies get off. Then I watched the bus take off. Then Will came. He thought I was joking when I told him we’d just missed our bus by five seconds. Fortunately I had my running shoes with me coz of PE. I sat there in the mall, taking off my high heel boots and putting on my comfy non-fashion shoes. Busses run every hour and I was certainly not going to sit there and wait. I discovered a shortcut and saw a beautiful mosque and a huge big mansion. We walked three quarters of the way home before I called it a day and said we should wait for the next bus. Didn’t feel like crossing the bridge. My hips are wider than the narrow walkway across! Walking home at peak time, we had to cross crazy main roads with any number of lanes running either way. (One has to remember to look the right way coz they drive the opposite side to what we’re accustomed to.) My running shoes came into their own as I sprinted across. Pedestrians are not common in Saudi and pedestrian crossings definitely non-existent. I remember how shit scared I was the first time I had to cross a road. It still scares me, but I’ve become a lot braver and certainly more comfortable with doing it. Crossing where there’s no middleman, is not advisable but sometimes unavoidable. The white line in the middle means nothing to no-one. I went halfway and turned my back – that way I would at least not see a hit coming. I probably scared some kind Saudi sufficiently - he slowed down, put on his hazards and allowed me time to finish the crossing. Good thing I understood his intent. Saudi drivers are downright mad. They speed – no-one ever cruises. Whenever I sit in front on a bus (something I never do by choice), I always tell the driver to go slow. I know how to say that in Arabic! And if there is an age-limit, it is certainly not enforced. Kids as young as 12 are sometimes on the roads. I teach 12-year olds and know exactly how great they are at making judgment calls! They are certainly not known for their common sense or quick responses. Small cars aren’t to be found. Guzzling big SUV’s, Land Cruisers, Chevrolets and the likes, abound. They advertise the fact that they have oil but no water. Clean cars – what’s that? I told one nurse that, given the way they drive, it was surprising how few accidents there were. Her answer was: true, but when they do have accidents, it’s almost always fatal. Exactly my cynical (practical) answer to Will: It will be over before you even know what hit you. His main concern is still that you will feel pain in that instant before you die. And on that happy note – enjoy your time on the road and please be careful!