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'.
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