Getting there is half the fun!

By Anita du Rand

 I have often dreamt silly young girl's dreams about Arabia and the beautiful outfits that the ladies wear in the movies, the wonderful riches bestowed upon them, never once thinking of the possibility of ending up in Arabia myself.

When the opportunity came, and I had read the post report, I declined, for obvious reasons: women there do not enjoy the western liberties that we take for granted in our own countries. I wasn't sure that I would be able to take that kind of treatment for a month, let alone six months. When they

came back to me, and requested me to go, (even after I had declined), as they needed a Foreign Service Assistant there urgently, 

I was on the horns of a moral dilemma. I like helping out the Department when they need me, and besides, willingness to tackle things others wouldn't dream of always looks better on a report. I still didn't feel at home with the idea of wearing the ladies outfit with the full face covering, long sleeves and a seam lower than my ankles though. It didn't seem right or fair to me that a woman had to suffer in such circumstances even though she was not of  that religion, neither from that country.

On the other hand, I have always been someone for new adventures and challenges and this was going to be a new mission with the usual high demands on the officers in charge of starting up such an office. I believe that my exact words were: "I must be crazy, but okay!" With that, I set myself up for what was to come.

The first thing I did, was have a look at the makeshift post report of Jeddah, and then the work started pouring in. Between brushing up on my knowledge of Accounts, I had to go to the Department of Home Affairs, finalise some administrative work and after the weekend, I readied myself and my luggage, carefully packing my "burka" which I had found at the Indian Plaza that Saturday in a shop called Nanna's, very near to Foxy's restaurant, in the basement. I had taken the outfit to the office and paraded it to everyone interested enough to pay attention. The excitement was pulsing through my veins, and although I thought I knew exactly what was awaiting me, apprehension mingled with excitement and even the heat felt under the outfit couldn't dampen my spirits.

It is always exciting to do something no one else has done before, and I was pleasantly surprised when one of the other officers noted that this was the first time that four officers were on the same flight to open missions in three different places. 

As I am egotistical, that kind of a remark always seems to please me. Although I am not the first Foreign Assistant to wear the gear, I at least have the honour to be the one to help launch this new mission in Saudi Arabia.

I started off with a normal western pair of slacks, but hidden in my bag together with my personal notebook, I had the GEAR! We were to fly by Gulf Air to Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates, and from there onward to Doha in Qatar to catch a connecting flight to Jeddah in Saudi Arabia. The flight started off on the wrong note, departing haJf an hour late, and I silently hoped it not to be a bad sign.

Although we started out the wrong way, the flight went smoothly and just before descending to land in Abu Dhabi, I disappeared into the very small toilet cubicle and started dressing in what would later feel like a prison outfit. A sudden shyness overwhelmed me when I had to walk out of the cubicle, a full blooded Arab - or at least appearing to be one.

I peeked at my colleague and got a smile, while going back to my seat. As I mentioned before, we were four persons and the next one that saw me could only shake his head in amazement and point me out to his travelling partner. I felt impish. There I was, trying to keep my dignity, or what little

was visible of it, as only my eyes were visible.

 I felt as if I were a Giant, and green at that, and that everyone was staring at me, which was stupid, because these folks must have seen this sight more than a thousand times. My travel partner smiled at me too, and this did not do anything to relieve the tension. His being a Pakistani that had worked for years in Saudi Arabia, I would have thought him to be the last one showing amusement.

Descending from the aeroplane I kept repeating to myself that I had to walk looking down at the floor, that way you don't see any person so you don't nod your head, which is a gesture forbidden for women. I had to keep my hands to myself and not shake hands with anyone. I tried to subtly stay behind my three male travel companions, but they also seemed to forget from time to time, playing the gentleman in some situations.

Walking into the arrival hall of Abu Dhabi, in the United Arab Emirates, we saw a most beautiful structure in the middle of the floor. A beautiful pillar stretched from one floor below and mushroomed up to the ceiling, to arch behind us, connecting with the walls. Everything was

covered by mosaic tiles in blue with a shade of yellow and white here and there. As I stood behind my colleague, trying dutifully to look down at the floor and be inconspicuous, the heat started getting to me, and I wondered how long we would have to go before I could take off the silly mask. I was, it fell. exhaling and inhaling steam, because of the mask covering my nose and incubating my face. We received help and were taken to the executive lounge. It was a beautiful and cool resting place. Here again I saw something that I had seen on TV in Arabian sagas of slave girls behind wooden dividers. The dividers they used in the lounge were made of wood, and looked like beads and other shapes, carved and put together to form makeshift walls. Although they were see-through the purpose was not to hide, but to divide. To my delight, my colleague going to Riyadh advised me not to keep the face "mask" on, because no one seemed to wear them, and was I thankful! I had just been thinking that if I had to wear it ten more minutes, I would have started hyperventilating. In retrospect, how silly of me to even have thought that that had been a long time. Later, much later, my patience would be tried to the full with that ever present mask.

We were able to relax with a cup of coffee and magazines and later a ground hostess care to call us to board our next flight, going to Qatar where our next stop would be Doha.

Once again we were in the aeroplane, and were separated. No smoking was allowed on the Inter Gulf flights and the only thing that hindered me from sitting with my colleague was of course my gender. To my surprise some men came to occupy some of the seats in the "women's section" - later I realized that it was basically a case of men first, and men secondly also being able to sit in the "family section", there was no section for women only. The flight from Abu Dhabi to Doha wasn't a long one, it was 45 minutes from lift to touchdown. In that time, they rushed us through a pre-lift-off drink, another with the snack and a cup of coffee just before handing in our trays. I afterwards jokingly referred to it as "vacuum time". We basically had to gobble up our snacks very quickly to make the deadline for the folding of  the trays.

Coming in to Doha, the obvious differences of the houses fascinated me. They had, what I call, Jerusalem houses, typical flat block-shaped houses where you could literally party on the rooftop without toppling off. like you would on any conventional rooftop. The houses all had a desert-sand

colour and blended in beautifully with the background of sand, sand and desert sand once again.

There are very few trees and shrubs, but that is in any case what you would expect of a desert.

After landing, I decided to punish myself again with the mask in case this new country we were in now, was not tolerant to women who do not cover their faces. We were helped to an executive lounge again and while my colleague went walking around, I volunteered to watch the baggage. I was tired and unwilling to be confronted for "walking around alone or unnecessarily". Our colleague from Riyadh joined us for approximately 20 minutes, after coming in on another flight, Then I put my mask in place for the short trip back to the plane. 

We wished each other good luck and left.We were taken to a bus again, and I already got the hang of it. You see to it that you get a place to sit on the opposite side of the bus, wait for all the men to leave together and dawdle on behind them, all the time pretending that you are alone and walking at your own pace, but invisibly measuring your pace to theirs and keeping your distance.

For once, my fellow colleague and I were both in the "family section" of the plane and sitting next to each other. At last there was someone to talk to. We had a pleasant two and a half hour flight and were we wrong for thinking that the journey at last had come to an end, when we got off the plane.

All that was left now for us to do, was to get through passport control and then, in just a few minutes we would be lying in a steaming bubble bath with music softly playing and our toes curling in pure enjoyment and relaxation ... or so we thought.

We were accompanied to an office in the airport, and this office ended up being our prison for the next five hours. We were treated kindly and although I was able to try and locate our suitcases we were compelled to sit there for the entire five hours.

I decided to go looking for our suitcases, with my mask intact since getting off the plane, and went to stand next to the conveyer belts. I didn't stand there long when an old man started taking suitcases off the belt and started packing them next to the conveyer belt machine, on the floor. When it became apparent that he was going to take down every suitcase in plain sight, and that I was standing right where he planned to set down some two-hundred odd suitcases, he gestured in what seemed to me, a very rude way, that I had to get out of his way. I stood back, and started looking at the names on the suitcases, looking for my colleague's luggage, although I had no idea what they looked like. After finding two suitcases as well as my own, I returned to watch over our hand luggage while he had a turn at stretching his legs and looking for the trunks still to come.

We sat around in the office of the Passport officer and every time we thought that they would now give me a visa, temporary or what not, they got in some other officer who decided differently. I was boiling hot underneath that outfit, and was starting to really go "bonkers" underneath. They brought us tea, and seeing that the office was a glass cubicle, and in plain sight of the public and police parading around, I tried to lift the veil for a sip of black tea, carefully trying to manoeuvre the cup between my face and the mask. Much later, giving it up for a bad job, I sat, eyes turned down holding the cup of tea, not knowing how the ladies ever managed to drink or eat. Much later, deciding that I would attack anyone if I couldn't take off the mask, I slipped it down, and started to drink the cold sweet black tea.

Wanting badly to sleep and knowing that it would be rude, I had to struggle through what seemed like a thousand one-second nod-offs, with my colleague also visibly trying to stifle some yawns. Even later they suggested I go back to where I came from, as it was apparent that I would not be let into the country. I sat there like a stiff dress-dummy deciding that no matter what, I would not panic, somehow we would be able to get that visa for me.

After the torture had gone on for what seemed to be the longest five hours in my life, where every new person walking into the office with new ideas on how to solve the crisis, meant prolonging the torture, even I started to think it better that they send me back or at least to London, until I could get the visa that had been issued even before we departed from South Africa. Just as I was ready to give it up as a bad job, they came in again with my passport and we were set to leave.

The porter that checked our luggage between helping other people, was happy to ask a fee for a full five hours of work, although he only watched the baggage in between receiving money for other jobs. We were bundled into a mini bus, and dutifully and without asking, I climbed into the back seat, leaving room for my colleague in front of me. Thinking ourselves to be on our way, we had to sit for what seemed like another half-hour, before another man was settled into the minibus, going to the same hotel.

Two half asleep zombies climbed out at the hotel and entered to book in. We did not have much strength left for any more hassles and to our relief, the booking-in took very little time and we were shown to our rooms. What I exactly remember of the rooms that first night was preciously little.

That night I fell into a deep sleep and was shaking when the phone rang the next morning, startling me to some level of awareness.

As we had arranged to be up and out at 08:00, I was surprised to find my colleague had overslept. While waiting for him to get ready for our first day in Jeddah, I took a look around. Our two rooms plus a third (inhabited by someone else) could be closed off by a double door. In the same shade of off-white and pink also visible, through an arch on the other side of this short passage, was a kitchenette, a diningroom with a six-seater table and a lounge with enough seats in a U-shape for approximately 20 odd persons.

When my colleague left his room, we descended in the elevator to the breakfast room. Upon entering the diner, I saw tables occupied by men only, and behind a wooden divider, some families. After taking place in the "family” section, we ordered breakfast. While waiting for my food, I saw a western lady and her little girl and went over to introduce myself and have a friendly chat with the purpose of finding out from her point of view, what exactly I was to expect in this country. She was a very friendly Danish lady, married to an American businessman. After she had given me some useful tips, I said goodbye to her, and we went our different ways.

With breakfast finished, my colleague went looking around in the city and I returned to my room. I was to man the phones, seeing that I couldn't go anywhere in any case. I was able to sit on my bed, and type on the computer, which I had placed on the bedside table. Not the easiest position to type from, but the only place available. The room being very small, I tried to go out on the balcony. There was a space of about 1,5 by ,9 square metres, in which I could stand. From there I had my first glimpse of the Red Sea.

After deciding that the hotel rooms were too small and that the hotel couldn't give us larger rooms due to the fact that bookings were filled up for the Ramadan time, we decided to look toward the Intercontinental Hotel, next door. My colleague went to negotiate affordable prices for rooms and

that afternoon we booked into the Intercontinental Hotel. My room twice as large as the previous one, with less in it. Instead of two beds, we had one King-size bed in each room. Also, the balcony was large enough to take out the chair and little table and sit on the balcony at any time. Seated, however, the balcony wall would obstruct the magnificent view of the Red Sea, now just beneath my balcony, and with only a double road in between. I just love the sea.

That night, I stared in amazement at the happenings on the beach. There were camels walking and running in circles. A motorcycle, of the scooter kind, fitted with a canopy and Christmas type of lights had been doing circuits the whole day and at about 3 o' clock in the morning, this ritual was still continuing. There were some horses too, and a brightly lit kiosk. It was wonderful just watching them going round in circles and their lights blending in with the backdrop of buildings visible from vantage point, on the other side of the cove. The mosque on my right -hand side, also on the beach,

beautiful in its snow white paint, started calling to its congregation for one of their five daily prayers.