I think at some point in our lives we all begin to dabble in the alternative “spiritual” arts realm. How can you not, in this day and age with it being pushed on you through the alternative mass media marketing machine, it is like the eye of Mordor. We the poor sure footed little hobbitses trying to fumble our way along the path fraught with the impending peril that is our lives according to CNN.
I mean, I don’t think everyone and their dog will end up picking up one of those sappy over processed Doreen Virtue Angel books. But I think at some point we all begin to wonder, just what the hell is out there “watching, guiding”.
I saw Doreen Virtue speak in Toronto once years back, and was amazed at the sheer number of people looking to her for some angelic guidance. It was like being submerged in that scene from the movie The Life of Brian, “blessed are the cheese makers, or any such producers of dairy products”. Christ the “meek not the Greek, will inherit the earth”. I remember Steven, Matt, and I thinking “this is a cash cow for this woman” why not keep manifesting that gravy train baby.
So after seeing this display, I was no way inspired to dye my hair angelic blonde and join the angel covenant, but I did want to experiment with this communication aspect. I thought perhaps one of her books would at least be entertaining. So hence the purchase “Healing with the Angels”.
I read it and waited for the signs and communication to begin. Once I was able to drop my sarcastic edge, something did happen that was indeed profound.
Here is the raw version, straight out of my diary that I was keeping at that time which came across my path in our boxes shipped from Saudi.
04/23/01
LOVE! I don’t know what happened but it is all gone! Washed away last night. I began thinking about all of the pain, hurt, tension, stress, confusion that I needed to let go of and my body became very warm. Seething, with sensation starting in my hands and pulsing through my body slowly like a current. My body began to lift off of the bed. I could see my hound Stuart standing below, watching intently, like he was holding space and witness to this absolute miracle. I had no idea that reading those simplistic Doreen Virtue Angel books could set the stage to such a grand meeting as this.
My body was being lifted and rocked slowly and gently by the most glorious Archangel Michael. I began to let go and trust. Trust in those giant wings for support. I began to ask for love and cleansing. Asking my angel to show me the way. With every breath, my body would rise and fall in those enormous wings like a dance. I can still feel the residual pulsing of unconditional love and solid foundation.
When I opened my eyes, I was contorted into an awkward position, one that would have been normally, very uncomfortable and painful. As I lifted my head all I could say was it’s gone! It’s all gone!
My reflection against the wall did not look like me. For the first time in months, I felt happy, loved, and supported. I felt like I was in a daze. The hardships of the past years of my life did not matter anymore. What people thought of me did not matter anymore. I think that I had just learned to love myself, accept who I was. If I was worthy of this great experience, I must be worthy of my own love and support. More guidance please, more guidance please was all I could think.
So why am I sharing this? So you know, you don’t’ just have to read Doreen Virtue books to have a brush with the angels. I thought I would let you know that reaming out the angels with blasphemous statements also works to get their attention! Perhaps I should write a book called “Ass kick the Angels: Angelic Blasphemy By God it Works!”
I was having the shittiest day ever still grappling with the transitions and move back to Niagara. Matt had been gone now almost a week to work in Manila, the start of his 6 week tour. I was firmly entrenched in the perils of single parentdom with the boys who are no easy piece of cake crying and asking for daddy every five minutes.
Then comes the call form Canadian Customs who would not release our household shipment; which sets in motion, reschedule of movers, drive to Pearson which takes 7 hours in total on the hottest day of the summer, and 3 hours of reorganizing a storage locker on the third floor of a tin covered storage building in 46 degree heat.
So while driving back to Niagara, I decided I had had enough.
I entered back into a hysteric why the hell has this all happened to me, “fucking embezzlement, fucking Saudi, I just want to bite someone in the face” break down and began to call the angels on their shit!
It kinda rolled like this, with snot and tears flying, and swerving all over the road:
Where the hell are you Brigit and Michael anyway? Have you not been listening? Where the hell do all of my apparent “Conversations with God” go? What happened to your reassuring voices stating this new phase of my life will be better than I could have ever imagined! Are you aware I am on my own, raising two small children under the age of five, in a place I did not want to return too, while fighting with Canada Customs agents about my choices to move to Saudi Arabia because as a good sensible Canadian I must clearly be out of my fucking mind to move to a place like that. So I should expect to be hairy assed by these uneducated Customs freaks that have never experienced life outside of their little red neck I work for the government-fucking box.
Please remember I did say blasphemous!
I did finish up with “if you are really there, get your angelic heads out of your Asses, and pony up bitches!”
Well, one hour later when I walked in the front door of my home you would not believe what I found, and I sent this email to my beautiful niece Alexis to thank her for providing the card, which was the vehicle for which Brigit and Michael chose to communicate with me after I reamed them out. I don’t think she would mind me sharing…
Alexis,
I wanted you to know how loved and special you are!
I have been having a very difficult day, struggling. As I drove home I had a very long conversation with Spirit, Brigit and Archangel Michael. I asked for a sign that I was being guided and supported through my tears of sorrow, and through these difficult transitions.
When I arrived home, the little "Thinking of you" card, which you left for me, which I had put on our corkboard with a pin was miraculously lying at my front door. (A whole other side of the house btw) I looked down and saw "Thinking of You".
This made my heart sing, because I know that I am being loved and supported from beyond and the miracle of the card being moved just for me to find is my sign!
Know that I love and adore you and think of you always. You are my angel... :) Anytime you would like to come stay with me or go shopping you are most welcome. I would love that. It gets a bit lonely with only the small boys here with me.
Angela
Alexis’s message to me verbatim was this:
“Thinking of You”
I know you have been struggling with a lot lately, and I just wanted to congratulate you on still working hard to be the best mom and wife you can be.
Alexis
My point: Screw the Doreen Virtue books, Ass kicking the angels appears to be just as effective!
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Convergence:
The whispers of this word licked my ears and plucked my heartstrings when I was presented with the opportunity to move to Jeddah, KSA.
It was as if reflections of myself danced through time weaving in and out of my consciousness pulling me toward the desert.
As explained by Wiki, convergence is the approach toward a definite value, a definite point, a common view or opinion, or toward a fixed or equilibrium state.
Following my intuition has been my formula in life, my barometer for staying true to myself and in the flow of life, my way of leading by example as a parent.
Convergence of what, I was not sure, but I was open to finding out and integrating the experience.
I melted into the landscape there like I truly belonged. My time there was surreal on all levels, and I vibrated with the hum of the infinite grains of sand in the brilliant sun.
When I break the definition apart and tackle it bit by bit now that I have returned and have had time to reflect on this experience from a clear, grounded position, this is what I have gleaned:
Discovering Definite Value in a being Mother:
I never saw myself having children. I knew I was too selfish in my own desires and aspirations with respect to my career, personal, and spiritual development. In that order exactly when I rewind back through the tapes of my mind ten years.
With my career booming, I began to focus on my personal development through an integrated healing approach spiritually. Wow what a shift! Next thing I know, the belief that I could not concieve children fell away; the floodgates opened, and along came Felyx Steven entering stage right.
This child was such a blessing in disguise although I was not aware of it at the time. He pushed me to the edge of my soul daily and really was such a catalyst for my personal and spiritual development.
The rub was this deep inner conflict on how to define myself now as a full time mother, with no booming television career to shape my worth in the ‘real’ world. I really did feel worthless. The sleep deprivation made it worse, and the post partum depression really put me on the edge for the 2 years following.
The discussion followed, with the thought of while we are in the thick of it we should just hit the wall running and reproduce with the intention of balancing our family life with the foundation number 4. Enter Tyl James stage left.
I spent the first 4 and half years of my career as a mother avoiding being perceived as one, although I was truly a brilliant one according to Matt. I saw the whole mother archetype as weak and non-contributing. My head was so far up my ass, mourning the career I thought I should still have that I failed to see the contribution I was making to society in raising consciously aware children.
It took going to Jeddah KSA, to what the world perceives as the most restrictive country for women to find my peace with being a brilliant woman and mom.
My environment gently forced me to look within, to become introverted and dissect my belief system about being a women, a mother, and our roles in the universe.
I was planted firmly in a compound full of children and mothers that where Queens of their domains, while their husbands worked. All of the mothers I had avoided in my motherly career to date, were there staring me in the face with no escape. If I were to find balance, and belong, I would have to embrace this screaming aspect of myself whole-heartedly.
The transformation was incredible! Going to Jeddah stirred my feminine energy and through the process of developing loving relationship with other mothers, I gave birth to and permission for myself to embody the value in being a strong, balanced, intuitive and emotionally accountable woman, partner to my husband, and mother to my children.
The Definite Point:
The name Jeddah meaning “Ancestor of Women” and is believed to the burial place of Eve. The spiritual draw that I felt to this place on earth had nothing to do with organized religion, but I knew that this was the cradle of civilization. My guidance has never failed me, and although this place did not satisfy our worldly financial ambitions, it transformed the four of us into a functioning family. We collectively learned how to be a balanced family there, not separated by individual ambitions and agendas. The stress level surrounding Matt’s employment made us rediscover our faith and trust on a level that could not be measured or fully comprehended to date.
I will forever be grateful for my brush with Saudi Culture, the Saudi Women who I believe to be the most powerful I have ever met, and to my Expat Moms who loved, and supported me through my blossoming experience.
Jeddah KSA will forever be the point on the map that represents convergence for me on all layers and levels of my feminine being. I can now grow exponentially personally, as the break that had existed between my consuming parallel lives has merged and my personal roots are strong and flexible.
The Compound Common View:
We were so blessed to be surrounded by 63 different nationalities from around the world, residing in Al Basateen Village.
Basateen truly was a garden in the desert that produced blossoming life long friendships and small-scale world peace.
It was so easy to fall into a family focused routine when you had 800 families as a mirror images of your own. We where all rowing the same boat, with the same ambitions, and values, trying to raise children with the best intentions from the confines of the safe buffering walls, with a global village perspective.
The mutual support we all had for one another was profound. Something that transcends anything I have ever experienced in North America.
Everyone there had a similar experience to our own, with the strife of employment in the Kingdom, daily kiddie chaos, and the usual expat family challenges.
I thank the heavens for this Mirage that reinforced our bonding under the hot desert sun.
Equilibrium:
We all arrived back in Niagara with this deflated sense of loss. It was so overwhelming, although drunkin blogging allowed me to let go of my sorrow and loss, clearing the path for me emotionally to move on.
In reflecting back, I see now we are balanced and happy as a family as a result of that experience, confident in our ability to weather any storms that may come our way in the future. The relationships between the four of us grew out of individual acknowledgement, acceptance, faith, and trust in Jeddah. This is now our foundation as a family, and will serve us all well in our journeys to come.
I have found equilibrium within myself personally, which I am grateful for. I no longer feel inadequate in any respect as a women, mother, partner, or individual operating in the vast universe.
Shukran for the convergence that occurred in Jeddah KSA.
It was as if reflections of myself danced through time weaving in and out of my consciousness pulling me toward the desert.
As explained by Wiki, convergence is the approach toward a definite value, a definite point, a common view or opinion, or toward a fixed or equilibrium state.
Following my intuition has been my formula in life, my barometer for staying true to myself and in the flow of life, my way of leading by example as a parent.
Convergence of what, I was not sure, but I was open to finding out and integrating the experience.
I melted into the landscape there like I truly belonged. My time there was surreal on all levels, and I vibrated with the hum of the infinite grains of sand in the brilliant sun.
When I break the definition apart and tackle it bit by bit now that I have returned and have had time to reflect on this experience from a clear, grounded position, this is what I have gleaned:
Discovering Definite Value in a being Mother:
I never saw myself having children. I knew I was too selfish in my own desires and aspirations with respect to my career, personal, and spiritual development. In that order exactly when I rewind back through the tapes of my mind ten years.
With my career booming, I began to focus on my personal development through an integrated healing approach spiritually. Wow what a shift! Next thing I know, the belief that I could not concieve children fell away; the floodgates opened, and along came Felyx Steven entering stage right.
This child was such a blessing in disguise although I was not aware of it at the time. He pushed me to the edge of my soul daily and really was such a catalyst for my personal and spiritual development.
The rub was this deep inner conflict on how to define myself now as a full time mother, with no booming television career to shape my worth in the ‘real’ world. I really did feel worthless. The sleep deprivation made it worse, and the post partum depression really put me on the edge for the 2 years following.
The discussion followed, with the thought of while we are in the thick of it we should just hit the wall running and reproduce with the intention of balancing our family life with the foundation number 4. Enter Tyl James stage left.
I spent the first 4 and half years of my career as a mother avoiding being perceived as one, although I was truly a brilliant one according to Matt. I saw the whole mother archetype as weak and non-contributing. My head was so far up my ass, mourning the career I thought I should still have that I failed to see the contribution I was making to society in raising consciously aware children.
It took going to Jeddah KSA, to what the world perceives as the most restrictive country for women to find my peace with being a brilliant woman and mom.
My environment gently forced me to look within, to become introverted and dissect my belief system about being a women, a mother, and our roles in the universe.
I was planted firmly in a compound full of children and mothers that where Queens of their domains, while their husbands worked. All of the mothers I had avoided in my motherly career to date, were there staring me in the face with no escape. If I were to find balance, and belong, I would have to embrace this screaming aspect of myself whole-heartedly.
The transformation was incredible! Going to Jeddah stirred my feminine energy and through the process of developing loving relationship with other mothers, I gave birth to and permission for myself to embody the value in being a strong, balanced, intuitive and emotionally accountable woman, partner to my husband, and mother to my children.
The Definite Point:
The name Jeddah meaning “Ancestor of Women” and is believed to the burial place of Eve. The spiritual draw that I felt to this place on earth had nothing to do with organized religion, but I knew that this was the cradle of civilization. My guidance has never failed me, and although this place did not satisfy our worldly financial ambitions, it transformed the four of us into a functioning family. We collectively learned how to be a balanced family there, not separated by individual ambitions and agendas. The stress level surrounding Matt’s employment made us rediscover our faith and trust on a level that could not be measured or fully comprehended to date.
I will forever be grateful for my brush with Saudi Culture, the Saudi Women who I believe to be the most powerful I have ever met, and to my Expat Moms who loved, and supported me through my blossoming experience.
Jeddah KSA will forever be the point on the map that represents convergence for me on all layers and levels of my feminine being. I can now grow exponentially personally, as the break that had existed between my consuming parallel lives has merged and my personal roots are strong and flexible.
The Compound Common View:
We were so blessed to be surrounded by 63 different nationalities from around the world, residing in Al Basateen Village.
Basateen truly was a garden in the desert that produced blossoming life long friendships and small-scale world peace.
It was so easy to fall into a family focused routine when you had 800 families as a mirror images of your own. We where all rowing the same boat, with the same ambitions, and values, trying to raise children with the best intentions from the confines of the safe buffering walls, with a global village perspective.
The mutual support we all had for one another was profound. Something that transcends anything I have ever experienced in North America.
Everyone there had a similar experience to our own, with the strife of employment in the Kingdom, daily kiddie chaos, and the usual expat family challenges.
I thank the heavens for this Mirage that reinforced our bonding under the hot desert sun.
Equilibrium:
We all arrived back in Niagara with this deflated sense of loss. It was so overwhelming, although drunkin blogging allowed me to let go of my sorrow and loss, clearing the path for me emotionally to move on.
In reflecting back, I see now we are balanced and happy as a family as a result of that experience, confident in our ability to weather any storms that may come our way in the future. The relationships between the four of us grew out of individual acknowledgement, acceptance, faith, and trust in Jeddah. This is now our foundation as a family, and will serve us all well in our journeys to come.
I have found equilibrium within myself personally, which I am grateful for. I no longer feel inadequate in any respect as a women, mother, partner, or individual operating in the vast universe.
Shukran for the convergence that occurred in Jeddah KSA.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Dankeshane
I sit bewildered in St Catharine Ontario, wondering how I was lifted out of Jeddah, that magical place. In’Shallah I suppose.
It is rather painful to think of those I had made a true heart connection with that I had left behind. One of the hardest things was driving away in our motorcade as everyone dried their eyes and buried their heads.
I had one of the most pivotal realizations / revelations to date in my life in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. It came to me while I was sweating out 3 liters of fluid, climbing the mountain, with ass burning on the dance floor in Diana’s Wednesday morning spin class. I knew in that moment, that if I could truly be happy as a pig in shit, at peace, and overflowing with joy in Jeddah Saudi Arabia, then I could be happy, at peace, joyous, and comfortable in my own skin anywhere in the world.
The guidance and divine will that placed me there would support me on my lifelong journey.
This knowingness still however does not however alleviate the heaviness of my heart as I wash through the waves of emotional tides that have been tsunamis over the past couple months.
I hope that everyone has the opportunity in their lives to embrace the raciness of a Russian Lucy causing cans of Red Bull to pop up in pockets.
There was the sweetest most beautiful Brazilian Sylvia, who is the envy of the whole compound with her perfect Brazilian bottom. She has been the inspiration behind my dream of walking on the beach in Rio in a thong. I only hope I get there before my ass hangs to my knees. ☺
There was Lebanese Diana, who I pretended was my personal trainer full of pizzazz and motivation.
MariChu, was my Filipina sister who always called me Darling.
Amani was my kickboxing partner, who stretched it out with me on more than one occasion. She was intriguing to me, and I loved her level headedness and quiet nature.
Bulgarian Bobby and German Sven, our weekend party warriors, we shared many laughs, and hangovers.
I was so honoured to be embraced and an influential part in Samantha, and Krisztina’s spiritual quest. Working with both of them was such a blessing beyond belief.
Abu Talib our driver was the most gracious person I had ever met. He was a real cracker behind the wheel in a pinch as well, which comes in handy in Saudi. Talib you have touched our families heart, and are part of our family now and always.
Sepali you will always be a part of our hearts and home, bless you!
Ayah and Bassam were our Saudi family whom we broke all the rules with.
Mr.Saad what can I really say. You beamed with positivity and love daily. You truly are my brother from many lives gone by. We send you love and light daily in our prayers. Your godly voice echoes through our home to remind us of our love of call to prayer.
To the members of the PFJ: British Richard in particular: splitters!
I could never forget the South Africans, who are never phased by anything. Karen and Johan throw a mean bri while bullets ricochet and grenades breech the compound walls. Their friendship, and support carried us through a few difficult up and down months to which we are truly grateful for. You are both very special to us!
Last but not least the lovely Irish Tracy, the channel of Saint Rita herself. I catch myself believing I see you everywhere here in Niagara. You welcomed us into your home and heart without question, your kindness, understanding, support, and unconditional love where an inspiration to our whole family. I light a candle nightly in honour of our friendship, and Tyl sings you Happy Birthday at the top of his lungs with his blond hair brilliant as the desert sun.
I suppose this is really a thank you note to all of you. It just began to be a bit of a run on ramble while consuming a bottle of Australian Shiraz. Which I am sure you will all appreciate and envy. I can say in confidence I do not miss the ribena homemade wine hang overs one bit.
Just know that somewhere in the world there is a family of Canadians who will forever be changed by your kindness, support, and generosity. We hold you all in such high regard within our hearts.
Bless!
It is rather painful to think of those I had made a true heart connection with that I had left behind. One of the hardest things was driving away in our motorcade as everyone dried their eyes and buried their heads.
I had one of the most pivotal realizations / revelations to date in my life in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. It came to me while I was sweating out 3 liters of fluid, climbing the mountain, with ass burning on the dance floor in Diana’s Wednesday morning spin class. I knew in that moment, that if I could truly be happy as a pig in shit, at peace, and overflowing with joy in Jeddah Saudi Arabia, then I could be happy, at peace, joyous, and comfortable in my own skin anywhere in the world.
The guidance and divine will that placed me there would support me on my lifelong journey.
This knowingness still however does not however alleviate the heaviness of my heart as I wash through the waves of emotional tides that have been tsunamis over the past couple months.
I hope that everyone has the opportunity in their lives to embrace the raciness of a Russian Lucy causing cans of Red Bull to pop up in pockets.
There was the sweetest most beautiful Brazilian Sylvia, who is the envy of the whole compound with her perfect Brazilian bottom. She has been the inspiration behind my dream of walking on the beach in Rio in a thong. I only hope I get there before my ass hangs to my knees. ☺
There was Lebanese Diana, who I pretended was my personal trainer full of pizzazz and motivation.
MariChu, was my Filipina sister who always called me Darling.
Amani was my kickboxing partner, who stretched it out with me on more than one occasion. She was intriguing to me, and I loved her level headedness and quiet nature.
Bulgarian Bobby and German Sven, our weekend party warriors, we shared many laughs, and hangovers.
I was so honoured to be embraced and an influential part in Samantha, and Krisztina’s spiritual quest. Working with both of them was such a blessing beyond belief.
Abu Talib our driver was the most gracious person I had ever met. He was a real cracker behind the wheel in a pinch as well, which comes in handy in Saudi. Talib you have touched our families heart, and are part of our family now and always.
Sepali you will always be a part of our hearts and home, bless you!
Ayah and Bassam were our Saudi family whom we broke all the rules with.
Mr.Saad what can I really say. You beamed with positivity and love daily. You truly are my brother from many lives gone by. We send you love and light daily in our prayers. Your godly voice echoes through our home to remind us of our love of call to prayer.
To the members of the PFJ: British Richard in particular: splitters!
I could never forget the South Africans, who are never phased by anything. Karen and Johan throw a mean bri while bullets ricochet and grenades breech the compound walls. Their friendship, and support carried us through a few difficult up and down months to which we are truly grateful for. You are both very special to us!
Last but not least the lovely Irish Tracy, the channel of Saint Rita herself. I catch myself believing I see you everywhere here in Niagara. You welcomed us into your home and heart without question, your kindness, understanding, support, and unconditional love where an inspiration to our whole family. I light a candle nightly in honour of our friendship, and Tyl sings you Happy Birthday at the top of his lungs with his blond hair brilliant as the desert sun.
I suppose this is really a thank you note to all of you. It just began to be a bit of a run on ramble while consuming a bottle of Australian Shiraz. Which I am sure you will all appreciate and envy. I can say in confidence I do not miss the ribena homemade wine hang overs one bit.
Just know that somewhere in the world there is a family of Canadians who will forever be changed by your kindness, support, and generosity. We hold you all in such high regard within our hearts.
Bless!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The Tree of Life: Bahrain
The trip to Bahrain on May Day was perfect! I could not have planned it any better, even though I was not consciously aware of the dates and their significance at first.
Where to start? I have kept relatively silent on the most traumatic experience in my life, muttering the odd bit of information under my breath to those in the close circle while under the influence, asking why we left Fiji.
One can never really quite explain an experience such as this, and one only hopes that no parent will ever have to go through it.
Thank goodness I have walked through fire literally and figuratively many times in my life, for I think those moments prepared me for the stillness that would fall from above and beyond May 1st 2009.
It all started back in Fiji November 2008. We arrived in Nadi set to live in paradise for the next 3 years. Matt was flying; I was crowned the Branding and Product Consultant for Air Pacific, Fiji’s International Airline. It was our dream, both of us working and traveling with our children. This was to be my big career launch into the great reaches beyond.
Matt shortly went off to fly a Search and Rescue contract in the Solomon Islands mid April. Both of my children have a tendency to get sick when Matt leaves home. They react physically to their Father leaving, which so many parents report. I have grown used to it.
Felyx is a very gifted child. Not in the sense that so many other parents brag about. This child is a brilliant manifester, lives completely in the now, and could teach the author’s of the Secret a thing of two.
Our nights were like any other, cuddling in bed and telling stories from our imaginations, and visualizing the things we wanted to attract into our lives. After all, that was how we landed in Fiji to begin with.
P.S. If you do not have a visualization board, I suggest you make one!
Anyway Felyx’s story built daily as dad was away, and climaxed May 1st 2009.
It began with, I am gonna get really sick, so sick, that Dad will have to come home to get me, and we will fly across the Sea to Sydney in an air ambulance, and I will get to eat all the ice cream I want and play with all the toys I want without sharing.
As the story would build and evolve daily, I would redirect him drawing his attention to the fact that what we focus on we draw to ourselves, it is the law of attraction. However, the story never really changed to my satisfaction.
He woke the morning of May 1st, with a very high fever, one that would not break with Panadol. I knew it was bacterial and very aggressive, and became a bit nervous thinking about the third world Fiji healthcare system. I immediately put the worse case scenario out of my scope of reality, and found solace in the fact that we lived next to a Gynecologist Dr.Naidu who we trusted implicitly. He was no pediatrician, but was the best Doctor in Fiji and was a close friend.
I loved the fact that occasionally as I would have my morning coffee, I would see heaving pregnant bellies slip into his office, and come out after their labours with a bundle of joy, sometimes two. Birthing with a view of Wailoaloa beach, amazing!
I spoke with Doc and we agreed the best course of action was the strongest antibiotic Cipiro to nip anything in the bud.
After two doses, no change, and a listless child, it all went down hill in a matter of moments.
I went to get Felyx water, and as I stood at the sink chills went through my body. I ran to his bedside without questioning, to find him blue, not breathing, and no heart rate.
There was no panic, only instructions. “Kristine take Tyl and get Doc, tell him we need the oxygen tanks in his office, Felyx is VSA.”
With super human Mom strength, I gathered him up supported down his spine by the length of my left arm. I began breathing, compressions with my right hand, while walking calmly to the office watching from above, never losing time.
To Doc’s examination table we descended, oxygen mask in place, compressions pumping. I felt him slipping; he passed through my body like a breeze, and hung around my head. I was aware of having many levels of conversations with him. Before I knew it Doc grabbed my arm tears steaming down his face, saying “Angela it is been longer than ten minutes.” “He is gone.”
I did not speak, I merely reached down looking at my feces covered skirt, to push his prolapsed anus back into his body and asked in a calm clear voice aloud to that great being beyond, “What must I do.” I heard a resounding echo of many voices saying, “Let go”. I knew in this moment that child was not mine to have, but only came through me to bless this world. I had to let go. I had to find the strength to acknowledge him and love him to a place far beyond my comprehension.
It took all of the trust and if you can believe it, joy to step into that moment in that place and time which I was clinging to deeply whole heartedly in order to let him go.
As I let go, I looked at his grey lifeless face for what seemed like an eternity. I visualized him running on the beach chasing crabs shrieking with laughter and joy. From that special place on Natadola Beach, I found the courage, trust, and joy to release the final traces of his breath that washed through my lungs then, the same force that had passed through me once upon his birth. That exhilarating exasperated cry reverberated out of my whole body shuddering, and then miraculously I felt him fall back passing down through me, my uterus, filling into his own body once more.
In a jolt he sat up proclaiming, “I’m still here”. He did not speak again for five days, except to ask for Dad and to listen to Pink Floyd’s Division Bell album, which was my private ipod escape, that he knew nothing of prior to his departure above. It took five days for Matt to get back to us, with the International Medivac Service in tow, which was scheduled to take him to Auckland NZ. It however was inadvertently diverted to Sydney Australia due to weather conditions.
Those five days in Lautoka Hospital were the longest toughest of my life. They suspected bacterial meningitis, but did not have the blood testing capability to diagnose him, and a spinal tap was out of the question initially with his fevered delirious state upon arrival. Once he settled, I would not allow them to puncture his spinal column to withdrawal fluid. With his ant infested bed, and rusty tub for bathing there was no way I would allow a direct entry for further bacteria to take hold into his little body.
Once Felyx was airlifted to Sydney, he spent a further four weeks in isolation with all the ice cream he could eat, and all the toys he wanted to play with without sharing. That is the one great thing about an infectious disease isolation ward for a little kid!
It was never determined that he had full-blown meningitis. However, after his full recovery, we checked our “this will never happen to our healthy kids attitude” at the Nadi International airport, and boarded the plane home for Canada, leaving paradise and grand career deigns behind.
Exactly a year later, with the post traumatic stress put behind me, we ventured overseas again and on exactly May 1st 2010 found ourselves at the Tree of Life in Bahrain.
Felyx climbed the tree and sat firmly supported in her branches with a huge smile across his face. As I held his hand he asked, “Have you figured it out yet?”
I replied “what?” Although I knew full well to what he was referring to in that moment, as I swayed with the tree in complete gratitude remembering this exact day a year ago.
He asked, “Have you figured out why I left?” “I left so I would know that you truly wanted me, I needed to know.”
I asked, “Do you know now?” He said, “YES!”
I Held him tight and whispered into his hair, “I have always wanted you and loved you. I just needed to figure out HOW to love you.” “Now I know, to let go!”
As we walked back to the car from the tree of life in Bahrain, he said, “I saw the world through the layers of the tree, and she hangs by a thread!”
And the Division Bell rang and echoed out through the High Hopes of my child.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tree_of_Life,_Bahrain
Where to start? I have kept relatively silent on the most traumatic experience in my life, muttering the odd bit of information under my breath to those in the close circle while under the influence, asking why we left Fiji.
One can never really quite explain an experience such as this, and one only hopes that no parent will ever have to go through it.
Thank goodness I have walked through fire literally and figuratively many times in my life, for I think those moments prepared me for the stillness that would fall from above and beyond May 1st 2009.
It all started back in Fiji November 2008. We arrived in Nadi set to live in paradise for the next 3 years. Matt was flying; I was crowned the Branding and Product Consultant for Air Pacific, Fiji’s International Airline. It was our dream, both of us working and traveling with our children. This was to be my big career launch into the great reaches beyond.
Matt shortly went off to fly a Search and Rescue contract in the Solomon Islands mid April. Both of my children have a tendency to get sick when Matt leaves home. They react physically to their Father leaving, which so many parents report. I have grown used to it.
Felyx is a very gifted child. Not in the sense that so many other parents brag about. This child is a brilliant manifester, lives completely in the now, and could teach the author’s of the Secret a thing of two.
Our nights were like any other, cuddling in bed and telling stories from our imaginations, and visualizing the things we wanted to attract into our lives. After all, that was how we landed in Fiji to begin with.
P.S. If you do not have a visualization board, I suggest you make one!
Anyway Felyx’s story built daily as dad was away, and climaxed May 1st 2009.
It began with, I am gonna get really sick, so sick, that Dad will have to come home to get me, and we will fly across the Sea to Sydney in an air ambulance, and I will get to eat all the ice cream I want and play with all the toys I want without sharing.
As the story would build and evolve daily, I would redirect him drawing his attention to the fact that what we focus on we draw to ourselves, it is the law of attraction. However, the story never really changed to my satisfaction.
He woke the morning of May 1st, with a very high fever, one that would not break with Panadol. I knew it was bacterial and very aggressive, and became a bit nervous thinking about the third world Fiji healthcare system. I immediately put the worse case scenario out of my scope of reality, and found solace in the fact that we lived next to a Gynecologist Dr.Naidu who we trusted implicitly. He was no pediatrician, but was the best Doctor in Fiji and was a close friend.
I loved the fact that occasionally as I would have my morning coffee, I would see heaving pregnant bellies slip into his office, and come out after their labours with a bundle of joy, sometimes two. Birthing with a view of Wailoaloa beach, amazing!
I spoke with Doc and we agreed the best course of action was the strongest antibiotic Cipiro to nip anything in the bud.
After two doses, no change, and a listless child, it all went down hill in a matter of moments.
I went to get Felyx water, and as I stood at the sink chills went through my body. I ran to his bedside without questioning, to find him blue, not breathing, and no heart rate.
There was no panic, only instructions. “Kristine take Tyl and get Doc, tell him we need the oxygen tanks in his office, Felyx is VSA.”
With super human Mom strength, I gathered him up supported down his spine by the length of my left arm. I began breathing, compressions with my right hand, while walking calmly to the office watching from above, never losing time.
To Doc’s examination table we descended, oxygen mask in place, compressions pumping. I felt him slipping; he passed through my body like a breeze, and hung around my head. I was aware of having many levels of conversations with him. Before I knew it Doc grabbed my arm tears steaming down his face, saying “Angela it is been longer than ten minutes.” “He is gone.”
I did not speak, I merely reached down looking at my feces covered skirt, to push his prolapsed anus back into his body and asked in a calm clear voice aloud to that great being beyond, “What must I do.” I heard a resounding echo of many voices saying, “Let go”. I knew in this moment that child was not mine to have, but only came through me to bless this world. I had to let go. I had to find the strength to acknowledge him and love him to a place far beyond my comprehension.
It took all of the trust and if you can believe it, joy to step into that moment in that place and time which I was clinging to deeply whole heartedly in order to let him go.
As I let go, I looked at his grey lifeless face for what seemed like an eternity. I visualized him running on the beach chasing crabs shrieking with laughter and joy. From that special place on Natadola Beach, I found the courage, trust, and joy to release the final traces of his breath that washed through my lungs then, the same force that had passed through me once upon his birth. That exhilarating exasperated cry reverberated out of my whole body shuddering, and then miraculously I felt him fall back passing down through me, my uterus, filling into his own body once more.
In a jolt he sat up proclaiming, “I’m still here”. He did not speak again for five days, except to ask for Dad and to listen to Pink Floyd’s Division Bell album, which was my private ipod escape, that he knew nothing of prior to his departure above. It took five days for Matt to get back to us, with the International Medivac Service in tow, which was scheduled to take him to Auckland NZ. It however was inadvertently diverted to Sydney Australia due to weather conditions.
Those five days in Lautoka Hospital were the longest toughest of my life. They suspected bacterial meningitis, but did not have the blood testing capability to diagnose him, and a spinal tap was out of the question initially with his fevered delirious state upon arrival. Once he settled, I would not allow them to puncture his spinal column to withdrawal fluid. With his ant infested bed, and rusty tub for bathing there was no way I would allow a direct entry for further bacteria to take hold into his little body.
Once Felyx was airlifted to Sydney, he spent a further four weeks in isolation with all the ice cream he could eat, and all the toys he wanted to play with without sharing. That is the one great thing about an infectious disease isolation ward for a little kid!
It was never determined that he had full-blown meningitis. However, after his full recovery, we checked our “this will never happen to our healthy kids attitude” at the Nadi International airport, and boarded the plane home for Canada, leaving paradise and grand career deigns behind.
Exactly a year later, with the post traumatic stress put behind me, we ventured overseas again and on exactly May 1st 2010 found ourselves at the Tree of Life in Bahrain.
Felyx climbed the tree and sat firmly supported in her branches with a huge smile across his face. As I held his hand he asked, “Have you figured it out yet?”
I replied “what?” Although I knew full well to what he was referring to in that moment, as I swayed with the tree in complete gratitude remembering this exact day a year ago.
He asked, “Have you figured out why I left?” “I left so I would know that you truly wanted me, I needed to know.”
I asked, “Do you know now?” He said, “YES!”
I Held him tight and whispered into his hair, “I have always wanted you and loved you. I just needed to figure out HOW to love you.” “Now I know, to let go!”
As we walked back to the car from the tree of life in Bahrain, he said, “I saw the world through the layers of the tree, and she hangs by a thread!”
And the Division Bell rang and echoed out through the High Hopes of my child.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tree_of_Life,_Bahrain
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Saudi Stages
People ask me how I have managed to find the grace to wait out this situation that we have found ourselves overcome with here In Jeddah.
It has been a very long four weeks believe me, and we have taken it like champs, literally and figuratively.
Yesterday as I was having a nervous break down bawling fit, head rotating 360 degrees, with snot flying in each direction, minus the pee soup, and I was suddenly hit with a brilliant realization! I began to laugh hysterically through the wailing and tears, as Matt watched horrified, giving me the holy shit she has finally snapped look.
I proclaimed to Matt, that our past four weeks here literally emulated the Five Stages of Giraffe Death, from Robot Chicken. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “UURGGG I wanna bite someone in the face!”
Matt dropped to his knees in hysterics as we rolled on the floor together laughing until our eyes were dry, our bellies hurt, and our newly acquired Saudi street cat named Rita farted.
I somehow forgot the easiest way to dissipate painful situations is through genuine, joyous, laughter.
So copy and past the link and watch the Five stages of Giraffe Death, then note my version, and see if you have yourself a good laugh.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCoaBN6iOu0
Angela’s Five Saudi Stages:
Dramatic Organ Music
Stage One: Denial
“Uh oh”
“It’s no big deal, but everything my Sister said was true about Saudi contracts, bribery, and non payment.”
“Boy I am gonna have a good laugh with Tammy on the phone over this one while I drink myself blind on Sid grain alcohol homebrew.”
Dramatic Organ Music
Stage Two: Anger
“Well this is just F@@king Perfect, stupid bribery, stupid Saudi Arabia, urrgh I wanna bite someone in the face.”
“MuthaF@@@er, MuthaF@@@er, MuthaF@@@er.”
“Stupid Saudi Arabia.”
Dramatic Organ Music
Stage Three: Bargaining
“Are you there Saint Rita, patroness of hopeless cases?”
“It’s me Angela of Arabia.”
“If you would just give us a mulligan on this whole being bent over and screwed in Saudi Arabia, I promise to adopt a wayward Saudi street cat, name her Rita in your honour, and take her home to live with us in Canada in the lap of luxury.”
Dramatic Organ Music
Stage Four: Depression
Complete and absolute uncontrollable bawling, with lip quivering and stuttering as previously mentioned.
Dramatic Organ Music
Stage Five: Acceptance
“You know something, I’m cool with this.”
“I bet Saint Rita, has something even more amazing and abundant in store for me and our family.”
“Get my ass on a plane out of Saudi Arabia, I await my incredible abayaless traveling wilbury fate.”
THEN THE PHONE RINGS:
Dramatic Organ Music
“Matt, the Prince, The Red Crescent, and Action Aviation have agreed to restart the Saudi Arabia Air Ambulance Program in spite of the investigation. You will be paid your two months withheld wages and expenses, plus a month salary will be paid up front in advance. “Insha’Allah.”
Well that is all well and good, but this is the real world people, and Saudi time does not work for our family through this imposed current financial, and emotional position.
I will believe it when I see it, and the money is in the bank sucka.
Until then Insha’Allah, and we wait for the next job interview to pass bringing with it the excitement of our next adventure brimming on the horizon. Stay tuned to find out where the wind will carry us on our next global trek.
Beginning to feel a bit like Mary Poppin’s, only a bit more jaded, hung over, and emotionally devoid.
It has been a very long four weeks believe me, and we have taken it like champs, literally and figuratively.
Yesterday as I was having a nervous break down bawling fit, head rotating 360 degrees, with snot flying in each direction, minus the pee soup, and I was suddenly hit with a brilliant realization! I began to laugh hysterically through the wailing and tears, as Matt watched horrified, giving me the holy shit she has finally snapped look.
I proclaimed to Matt, that our past four weeks here literally emulated the Five Stages of Giraffe Death, from Robot Chicken. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “UURGGG I wanna bite someone in the face!”
Matt dropped to his knees in hysterics as we rolled on the floor together laughing until our eyes were dry, our bellies hurt, and our newly acquired Saudi street cat named Rita farted.
I somehow forgot the easiest way to dissipate painful situations is through genuine, joyous, laughter.
So copy and past the link and watch the Five stages of Giraffe Death, then note my version, and see if you have yourself a good laugh.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCoaBN6iOu0
Angela’s Five Saudi Stages:
Dramatic Organ Music
Stage One: Denial
“Uh oh”
“It’s no big deal, but everything my Sister said was true about Saudi contracts, bribery, and non payment.”
“Boy I am gonna have a good laugh with Tammy on the phone over this one while I drink myself blind on Sid grain alcohol homebrew.”
Dramatic Organ Music
Stage Two: Anger
“Well this is just F@@king Perfect, stupid bribery, stupid Saudi Arabia, urrgh I wanna bite someone in the face.”
“MuthaF@@@er, MuthaF@@@er, MuthaF@@@er.”
“Stupid Saudi Arabia.”
Dramatic Organ Music
Stage Three: Bargaining
“Are you there Saint Rita, patroness of hopeless cases?”
“It’s me Angela of Arabia.”
“If you would just give us a mulligan on this whole being bent over and screwed in Saudi Arabia, I promise to adopt a wayward Saudi street cat, name her Rita in your honour, and take her home to live with us in Canada in the lap of luxury.”
Dramatic Organ Music
Stage Four: Depression
Complete and absolute uncontrollable bawling, with lip quivering and stuttering as previously mentioned.
Dramatic Organ Music
Stage Five: Acceptance
“You know something, I’m cool with this.”
“I bet Saint Rita, has something even more amazing and abundant in store for me and our family.”
“Get my ass on a plane out of Saudi Arabia, I await my incredible abayaless traveling wilbury fate.”
THEN THE PHONE RINGS:
Dramatic Organ Music
“Matt, the Prince, The Red Crescent, and Action Aviation have agreed to restart the Saudi Arabia Air Ambulance Program in spite of the investigation. You will be paid your two months withheld wages and expenses, plus a month salary will be paid up front in advance. “Insha’Allah.”
Well that is all well and good, but this is the real world people, and Saudi time does not work for our family through this imposed current financial, and emotional position.
I will believe it when I see it, and the money is in the bank sucka.
Until then Insha’Allah, and we wait for the next job interview to pass bringing with it the excitement of our next adventure brimming on the horizon. Stay tuned to find out where the wind will carry us on our next global trek.
Beginning to feel a bit like Mary Poppin’s, only a bit more jaded, hung over, and emotionally devoid.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Insha'Allah
Many of my friends from home are fascinated with what my day is consumed with here in the Magic Kingdom.
Our lives here can be summed up Insha’Allah. This is an Arabic term to indicate hope for an aforementioned event to occur in the future. The phrase translates into English as "God willing" or "If it is God's will".
This term can also ironically mean not on your bloody life when used sarcastically. The key is beginning to read the subtle nuances of the person delivering the comment.
Most expats here have grown to loath the saying. I have tried to embrace it to the best of my abilities, holding fast to the deeper meaning behind it, when things go for shit in the Magic Kingdom, which happens in the business world more often than not.
Never before have I seen a non-bribery clause in a contract between agency and client.
When the agency then violates the contract by bribing an influential Doctor with millions of dollars to retain said contract, shit hits the fan. The Secret Police investigate, and those committed to running an essential lifesaving service are put on hold, with no pay. Shocking in the western world yes, old hat in Saudi.
So we wait, with options to stick it out and Insha’ Allah those with new BMW’s will return their illegally newly acquired cars and subsequently the money, employees salaries will be paid and people will be rescued from their wrecked cars on the side of the road escaping imminent death Insha’ Allah.
As for life on the compound, while our family waits, we explore options. A potential search and rescue position for a great pilot in Tasmania, one in Malaysia, one in Thailand.
As we wade through the suffocating disappointment of our four-year plan evaporating before our very eyes, we wait patiently for our life direction to unfold. Insha’ Allah.
Compound life goes on. I wake to the blazing sun daily, take Felyx to his private Saudi School, and then return home to attend the compound spin class, followed by a marathon swimming session with Tyl in the pool all before 10am.
I tend to my home brew broom closet wine, gin, and beer experiments, which Ms. Sethi my high school Chemistry teacher would be proud of.
In a mere few months I have managed to master some recipes from the Saudi Survival Guide handed down from expat to expat over the past 25 years.
I then pick Felyx up from school at 1pm, play in the park, swim another couple hours, then head to spend time with the adorable, unbelievably funny Irish house wife contingent for a few nips before dinner.
With that the day is done, as the kids go to bed, and we watch old CSI reruns of seasons past on Dubai One.
Once or twice a week depending, the family loads up on the beach bus headed to the secret exclusive private Beach resorts frequented by the expat community. Saudi’s not allowed. Here we strip off our abayas exposing our bikini-clad flesh to the sun and swim in the delicious Red Sea.
Matt laughs and Kristine and I ignore the Saudi men anxiously trying to penetrate the Silver Sands Beach Resort perimeter on jet skis to get an eye full of “naked” Westerners playing in the waves on shore. Occasionally you will see a burka draped woman flying through the waves with wreckless abandon, life jacket secure over top, adding a splash of colour to the floating black in the sea.
If I need to get groceries, go to the doctor with the children, or run errands, I call a limo service to take me where I need to go if Matt is not available to drive me. At times, it is a pain in the ass, but for the most part I don’t’ really mind. I would not want the stress of driving on these crazy roads. In honesty, I don’t think I have been here long enough yet to miss the convenience of driving. I do however love to see all the ladies pushing back in forth in line awaiting their chance to drive the bumper cars in the mall.
Life here for me is very simple, with so much time to focus on my children, which most westerners do not have the luxury of doing. I feel so fortunate for this opportunity, although some days I miss my rock star production life.
It is a comfortable numb, that may very well vanish in the blink of an eye.
I do not know where I am going next on this journey, but know I am being lead by a force beyond my comprehension.
I no longer pay attention to those who question my decisions as a parent to allow my family to follow the inevitable flow of what has become our life. The life of an expat family is not an easy one, but it does give my children the real experience of the planet as a global community, one that most parents and educators only flap off at the mouth about.
Felyx at the age of five, and Tyl almost three, have filled an entire passport to date with stamps marking their journey around the globe.
Felyx is fluent in mandarin, understands Fijian and Hindi, and is lapping up Arabic at a phenomenal rate.
For all the instability that family and friends see in this life style, I see unprecedented beauty, growth, and opportunity for my family, which I would not change for the world.
Should the world perchance end in 2012, would you be happy with your CHOSEN lot in life? I know I would, and there is no Insha’Allah about that!
Our lives here can be summed up Insha’Allah. This is an Arabic term to indicate hope for an aforementioned event to occur in the future. The phrase translates into English as "God willing" or "If it is God's will".
This term can also ironically mean not on your bloody life when used sarcastically. The key is beginning to read the subtle nuances of the person delivering the comment.
Most expats here have grown to loath the saying. I have tried to embrace it to the best of my abilities, holding fast to the deeper meaning behind it, when things go for shit in the Magic Kingdom, which happens in the business world more often than not.
Never before have I seen a non-bribery clause in a contract between agency and client.
When the agency then violates the contract by bribing an influential Doctor with millions of dollars to retain said contract, shit hits the fan. The Secret Police investigate, and those committed to running an essential lifesaving service are put on hold, with no pay. Shocking in the western world yes, old hat in Saudi.
So we wait, with options to stick it out and Insha’ Allah those with new BMW’s will return their illegally newly acquired cars and subsequently the money, employees salaries will be paid and people will be rescued from their wrecked cars on the side of the road escaping imminent death Insha’ Allah.
As for life on the compound, while our family waits, we explore options. A potential search and rescue position for a great pilot in Tasmania, one in Malaysia, one in Thailand.
As we wade through the suffocating disappointment of our four-year plan evaporating before our very eyes, we wait patiently for our life direction to unfold. Insha’ Allah.
Compound life goes on. I wake to the blazing sun daily, take Felyx to his private Saudi School, and then return home to attend the compound spin class, followed by a marathon swimming session with Tyl in the pool all before 10am.
I tend to my home brew broom closet wine, gin, and beer experiments, which Ms. Sethi my high school Chemistry teacher would be proud of.
In a mere few months I have managed to master some recipes from the Saudi Survival Guide handed down from expat to expat over the past 25 years.
I then pick Felyx up from school at 1pm, play in the park, swim another couple hours, then head to spend time with the adorable, unbelievably funny Irish house wife contingent for a few nips before dinner.
With that the day is done, as the kids go to bed, and we watch old CSI reruns of seasons past on Dubai One.
Once or twice a week depending, the family loads up on the beach bus headed to the secret exclusive private Beach resorts frequented by the expat community. Saudi’s not allowed. Here we strip off our abayas exposing our bikini-clad flesh to the sun and swim in the delicious Red Sea.
Matt laughs and Kristine and I ignore the Saudi men anxiously trying to penetrate the Silver Sands Beach Resort perimeter on jet skis to get an eye full of “naked” Westerners playing in the waves on shore. Occasionally you will see a burka draped woman flying through the waves with wreckless abandon, life jacket secure over top, adding a splash of colour to the floating black in the sea.
If I need to get groceries, go to the doctor with the children, or run errands, I call a limo service to take me where I need to go if Matt is not available to drive me. At times, it is a pain in the ass, but for the most part I don’t’ really mind. I would not want the stress of driving on these crazy roads. In honesty, I don’t think I have been here long enough yet to miss the convenience of driving. I do however love to see all the ladies pushing back in forth in line awaiting their chance to drive the bumper cars in the mall.
Life here for me is very simple, with so much time to focus on my children, which most westerners do not have the luxury of doing. I feel so fortunate for this opportunity, although some days I miss my rock star production life.
It is a comfortable numb, that may very well vanish in the blink of an eye.
I do not know where I am going next on this journey, but know I am being lead by a force beyond my comprehension.
I no longer pay attention to those who question my decisions as a parent to allow my family to follow the inevitable flow of what has become our life. The life of an expat family is not an easy one, but it does give my children the real experience of the planet as a global community, one that most parents and educators only flap off at the mouth about.
Felyx at the age of five, and Tyl almost three, have filled an entire passport to date with stamps marking their journey around the globe.
Felyx is fluent in mandarin, understands Fijian and Hindi, and is lapping up Arabic at a phenomenal rate.
For all the instability that family and friends see in this life style, I see unprecedented beauty, growth, and opportunity for my family, which I would not change for the world.
Should the world perchance end in 2012, would you be happy with your CHOSEN lot in life? I know I would, and there is no Insha’Allah about that!
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Airline Education on Snakes for Children
It is amazing the information that can be gleaned culturally from a children’s story handed out on a Saudi Arabian Airlines flight.
The Prolog
Dear young passenger,
Your renowned Arab grandfather, Abbass Ibn Farnas, a Muslim Scientist, was the first person to attempt to fly, thus he had been considered as a Pioneer of Aircraft Manufacturing. He saw the aircraft in his mind’s eye. He did not imagine it in its present day shape. In fact, he dreamed of flying by fluttering his own feathery wings in the air, just like a bird. This ambitious scientist, however, lost his life in trying to fly. It is generally thought that he failed because he overlooked the vital role of the bird’s tail. This belief is certainly untrue. Though all of us are now aware of the role of the bird’s tail, none of us can dare to make a similar attempt. Allah has guided us to make the airplane that has shortened distances and made it possible for you to easily travel to destinations farther than those visited by your grandfather, the great traveler. But one problem still hangs around. You often feel that you stay on board the aircraft too long and become board due to the limited space you are confined to. Of course, you want to play freely as you usually do. This is not possible on board and aircraft. We, in Saudi Arabian Airlines, have therefore deemed it appropriate to help you stimulate your mind to overcome the monotony of your long stay in your seat. Nothing can be more amusing than reading this book written by “Papa Yaquob”. You will not only overcome boredom of a long flight, but you will also pass this time merrily. You can keep this book. It is your complimentary copy.
Signed,
Saudi Arabian Airlines
The Snake: By Papa Yaqoub
Once upon a time there were two brothers who herd camels. Unfortunately their land had suffered from great drought. Neighboring to their land is a very fertile green valley. One of the two brothers decided to move to that valley to graze his camels. But his brother prevented him because there is a huge snake living in that valley.
Nevertheless his brother made up his mind and determined to move to that valley. There suddenly the snake killed and attacked him.
The deceased brother resolved to revenge for his brother, and kill that snake. But the snake requested reconciliation and peace. The brother responded to that request.
After some days the brother remembered his deceased brother, so again he began thinking of revenge for his brother, and determined to kill the snake when it comes out of its hole.
Just when the snake came out of its hole the deceased’s brother picked up his axe and tried to hit the snake’s head with his axe. But unfortunately the axe missed the snake’s head. The snake was wounded only with a small cut. So the snake has escaped death.
The brother was terrified and became worried for his life. So he requested reconciliation with the snake. But the snake laughed, saying to him “How can I make peace with you, when there is a mark of your axe on my body?”
The End
Upon reading this to Felyx, his response was “Is that the end of the story?”
I replied “apparently, but there are some facts about snakes if you would like to read those with me”.
Felyx asked, “but what about them forgiving one another and becoming friends?” “That is how all stories end.”
I replied, “Well I think perhaps we should re write the end of the story.”
So we did, and they all lived happily ever after in the green valley together discussing the symbolism hidden in the spiritual significance of the snake as an animal totem for the brothers of the dessert.
Snake Totem: www.sayahda.com
Snakes are fascinating creatures that deserve respect. Throughout history the snake has had many legends associated with it linking them to creation, fertility and transformation.
In Israel the snake was regarded as the earth mother and played a beneficial role in fertility. In Egypt the cobra was known for its ability to expand the upper neck into a disc shape by spreading its ribs, which symbolized immortality. In Christian lore the snake is seen rising from the chalice of St. John wound around a cross sometimes portrayed with a woman's head to symbolize lust and temptation. In Eastern cultures a snake rising up through the spine represents the kundalini, or life force being awakened.
One of snake’s most noticeable characteristics is the regular shedding of its outer skin as it grows. Once the skin is shed, the old inner layer becomes the new outer layer and a new inner layer of skin begins to develop. Crawling out of its old skin is very significant for those with this medicine. It is a metaphor for how we shed old ways and habits as we grow into higher spiritual energy symbolizing the death and rebirth process. It is also associated with astral travel and out of body experiences.
The eyes of a snake are always open protected by immobile transparent scales. Prior to shedding its skin the snake’s markings become obscure and the eyes appear opaque or blue. This gives it a trance like appearance as if it is looking right through you. Learning how to see into the hearts of others is part of what it teaches us.
Snake has been a symbol of life and sexuality for thousands of years in many cultures. It is a totem of power, renewal and transmutation. Soundless in motion and invisible at rest snakes are unable to produce their own body heat. They are often seen lying in the hot mid day sun. The suns warmth coupled with the snake’s behavior regulates their body temperature. Not relying on the energy of food to generate body heat, they can survive on meager diets for extended periods of time. Those with this totem need very little food to energize them. They are usually cold and prefer warmer climates. Their body temperatures are often lower than normal.
Snakes lack eardrums and external ear openings but have small bones in the head that conduct sound. They are able to hear low frequency sounds and sense vibrations that travel through the earth. This links them to the underworld where secrets are stored.
The snake symbolizes healing on a cellular level. Because their bodies are lightweight and flexible they have speed and agility. When they enter into your world expect swift changes to sweep through your life. These changes signify a death of the old and a birth into untapped power, creativity and wisdom. Snake is a powerful totem to have. Only those with a high degree of spiritual training, be it past or present, will be awarded this totem. It is the guardian of sacred places and the keeper of hidden knowledge.
Other interesting Saudi Arabian Airlines Facts on Snakes for children:
1. The snake is the most famous reptile known to man, which he fears greatly.
2. The snake has no nose, but can smell through an opening in that frontage of its throat’s roof.
3. Snakes feed on rats, mice, and harmful insects.
4. When a snake wants to pull off its skin it scratches its head with a course object such as a rock around its mouth.
5. Only poisonous snakes have fangs, and the toxic poison comes out though the caved canine tooth and passes to the victim’s body.
6. Poor Indians use some kinds of snakes to display some of their special skills through playing flutes.
7. Different ladies hand bags and shoes are made of snake’s skins.
8. Snakes appear as if they are glaring at you because they have no eyelids.
9. Snakes usually increase in size and length at close periods.
The Prolog
Dear young passenger,
Your renowned Arab grandfather, Abbass Ibn Farnas, a Muslim Scientist, was the first person to attempt to fly, thus he had been considered as a Pioneer of Aircraft Manufacturing. He saw the aircraft in his mind’s eye. He did not imagine it in its present day shape. In fact, he dreamed of flying by fluttering his own feathery wings in the air, just like a bird. This ambitious scientist, however, lost his life in trying to fly. It is generally thought that he failed because he overlooked the vital role of the bird’s tail. This belief is certainly untrue. Though all of us are now aware of the role of the bird’s tail, none of us can dare to make a similar attempt. Allah has guided us to make the airplane that has shortened distances and made it possible for you to easily travel to destinations farther than those visited by your grandfather, the great traveler. But one problem still hangs around. You often feel that you stay on board the aircraft too long and become board due to the limited space you are confined to. Of course, you want to play freely as you usually do. This is not possible on board and aircraft. We, in Saudi Arabian Airlines, have therefore deemed it appropriate to help you stimulate your mind to overcome the monotony of your long stay in your seat. Nothing can be more amusing than reading this book written by “Papa Yaquob”. You will not only overcome boredom of a long flight, but you will also pass this time merrily. You can keep this book. It is your complimentary copy.
Signed,
Saudi Arabian Airlines
The Snake: By Papa Yaqoub
Once upon a time there were two brothers who herd camels. Unfortunately their land had suffered from great drought. Neighboring to their land is a very fertile green valley. One of the two brothers decided to move to that valley to graze his camels. But his brother prevented him because there is a huge snake living in that valley.
Nevertheless his brother made up his mind and determined to move to that valley. There suddenly the snake killed and attacked him.
The deceased brother resolved to revenge for his brother, and kill that snake. But the snake requested reconciliation and peace. The brother responded to that request.
After some days the brother remembered his deceased brother, so again he began thinking of revenge for his brother, and determined to kill the snake when it comes out of its hole.
Just when the snake came out of its hole the deceased’s brother picked up his axe and tried to hit the snake’s head with his axe. But unfortunately the axe missed the snake’s head. The snake was wounded only with a small cut. So the snake has escaped death.
The brother was terrified and became worried for his life. So he requested reconciliation with the snake. But the snake laughed, saying to him “How can I make peace with you, when there is a mark of your axe on my body?”
The End
Upon reading this to Felyx, his response was “Is that the end of the story?”
I replied “apparently, but there are some facts about snakes if you would like to read those with me”.
Felyx asked, “but what about them forgiving one another and becoming friends?” “That is how all stories end.”
I replied, “Well I think perhaps we should re write the end of the story.”
So we did, and they all lived happily ever after in the green valley together discussing the symbolism hidden in the spiritual significance of the snake as an animal totem for the brothers of the dessert.
Snake Totem: www.sayahda.com
Snakes are fascinating creatures that deserve respect. Throughout history the snake has had many legends associated with it linking them to creation, fertility and transformation.
In Israel the snake was regarded as the earth mother and played a beneficial role in fertility. In Egypt the cobra was known for its ability to expand the upper neck into a disc shape by spreading its ribs, which symbolized immortality. In Christian lore the snake is seen rising from the chalice of St. John wound around a cross sometimes portrayed with a woman's head to symbolize lust and temptation. In Eastern cultures a snake rising up through the spine represents the kundalini, or life force being awakened.
One of snake’s most noticeable characteristics is the regular shedding of its outer skin as it grows. Once the skin is shed, the old inner layer becomes the new outer layer and a new inner layer of skin begins to develop. Crawling out of its old skin is very significant for those with this medicine. It is a metaphor for how we shed old ways and habits as we grow into higher spiritual energy symbolizing the death and rebirth process. It is also associated with astral travel and out of body experiences.
The eyes of a snake are always open protected by immobile transparent scales. Prior to shedding its skin the snake’s markings become obscure and the eyes appear opaque or blue. This gives it a trance like appearance as if it is looking right through you. Learning how to see into the hearts of others is part of what it teaches us.
Snake has been a symbol of life and sexuality for thousands of years in many cultures. It is a totem of power, renewal and transmutation. Soundless in motion and invisible at rest snakes are unable to produce their own body heat. They are often seen lying in the hot mid day sun. The suns warmth coupled with the snake’s behavior regulates their body temperature. Not relying on the energy of food to generate body heat, they can survive on meager diets for extended periods of time. Those with this totem need very little food to energize them. They are usually cold and prefer warmer climates. Their body temperatures are often lower than normal.
Snakes lack eardrums and external ear openings but have small bones in the head that conduct sound. They are able to hear low frequency sounds and sense vibrations that travel through the earth. This links them to the underworld where secrets are stored.
The snake symbolizes healing on a cellular level. Because their bodies are lightweight and flexible they have speed and agility. When they enter into your world expect swift changes to sweep through your life. These changes signify a death of the old and a birth into untapped power, creativity and wisdom. Snake is a powerful totem to have. Only those with a high degree of spiritual training, be it past or present, will be awarded this totem. It is the guardian of sacred places and the keeper of hidden knowledge.
Other interesting Saudi Arabian Airlines Facts on Snakes for children:
1. The snake is the most famous reptile known to man, which he fears greatly.
2. The snake has no nose, but can smell through an opening in that frontage of its throat’s roof.
3. Snakes feed on rats, mice, and harmful insects.
4. When a snake wants to pull off its skin it scratches its head with a course object such as a rock around its mouth.
5. Only poisonous snakes have fangs, and the toxic poison comes out though the caved canine tooth and passes to the victim’s body.
6. Poor Indians use some kinds of snakes to display some of their special skills through playing flutes.
7. Different ladies hand bags and shoes are made of snake’s skins.
8. Snakes appear as if they are glaring at you because they have no eyelids.
9. Snakes usually increase in size and length at close periods.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Voice of Allah
Felyx will be five on Wednesday. The time has flown so fast, and he is a child not of this world but merely passed through me to bless this world in ways that are incomprehensible. He is a wise and multi-dimensional being shifting through the universe, much like Mr. Saad Almukhtar. My dear friend, brother, and pure brilliant light that channels the highest purest vibrations of unconditional love through the power in his own unique voice.
I share with you all his incredible call to prayer:
http://www.supload.com/sound_confirm.php?get=594590683.wma
Copy and paste the link into your browser download and enjoy!
I am blessed to hear the call to prayer five times a day here in Jeddah, five being the number of universal consciousness, which I find very interesting. When you listen pay attention to where you feel the vibration in your body for that is the beginning of the roadmap to your self directed healing experience. Enjoy this beautiful experience, for it is a true blessing!
I share with you all his incredible call to prayer:
http://www.supload.com/sound_confirm.php?get=594590683.wma
Copy and paste the link into your browser download and enjoy!
I am blessed to hear the call to prayer five times a day here in Jeddah, five being the number of universal consciousness, which I find very interesting. When you listen pay attention to where you feel the vibration in your body for that is the beginning of the roadmap to your self directed healing experience. Enjoy this beautiful experience, for it is a true blessing!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
When in Rome
So I have figured out why these Saudi children seem better behaved in public then my own.
A good spanking has never hurt anyone here in the Kingdom.
Of course, you could have imagined the shock on my face upon witnessing this transgression that was only declared in the western world after I graduated my childhood years. Boy I remember the days of the ping-pong paddle, and stinging behind clearly. Now it is 1 2 3 Magic and a handful of other new age initiatives that do not seem to work with my stubborn, smarter than me children.
I have tried every other parenting strategy with my two young boys, but of course not this one, as it is unacceptable in Canada. Surely this must be why these children are so well behaved, no?
Anyway, back to the situation at hand. This adorable little girl who looked to be about 3 to 4 years of age, was running through the supermarkets entrance. She was so focused on her father’s trailing thobe, that she missed the lip of the step. She fell flat out on her wee little face, and was crying and screaming uncontrollably.
The father rushed to her side, picking her up, kissing her wildly, and wiping her tears away while cooing softly. I thought to myself, what a wonderful tender loving daddy.
With a quick turn of events, my Saudi Cleaver family episode bubble was burst instantaneously.
Seconds later, as he lowered her to her feet, he clasped her arm tightly whipping her around to face the lip of the step as he pointed it out. With a swift few smacks of her behind, he said “Now next time watch where you are going, so you don’t trip and embarrass your family.” Once again the tears began to flow in silence, and they walked on.
I have to admit, I secretly have imagined myself spanking my kids throughout the course of the last five years, when filled with absolute frustration and angst. Show me a parent who has not?
Somehow, I don’t think spanking the children that I am blessed to have would result in a similar outcome. Perhaps Matt needs to go to Saudi parenting classes just to be sure. ;)
Nanna this post was for you!
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Helpful Hints for Western Women living in Saudi Society: Rule # 5
Do not call married Saudi men for abaya fashion advice.
Case in Point:
After several close calls with children ripping open abayas, Kristine and I decided to go looking for a more temper tantrum child friendly version, to avoid exposure.
There are no change rooms in Saudi Shopping Malls. You buy clothing; take it home to try on, and then return or exchange it depending. Hardly convenient especially when managing small children on repeat shopping mall excursions. Clearly Saudi children are better behaved then my own.
So here we are, child friendly abaya shopping. The store was lovely, the salesmen excited about the prospect of overcharging westerners for their wears. Unfortunately for them, I am aggressive, and have learned the art of calculator haggling while in China to circumvent all language barriers.
There was the most amazing bright blue abaya that I had fallen in love with despite the fact that it still did not provide a child friendly solution to my existing potential exposure problems.
The salesman was nervously waving me to the back of the store, showing me to a broom closet which he was offering as a change room solution to make the sale. I thought to myself, is this really happening? Then I felt the adrenaline rush begin to kick in at the thought of exposing my clothed body in the secrecy of a broom closet while in a public place. If only my mother could see me now.
The abaya fit very well, perhaps maybe a bit too tight across the bust, and I was really unsure if the colour was acceptable. For Ramadan yes, everyday wear most likely not. I already had mastered the art of drawing to much attention to myself in almost every situation as it was, so perhaps a bright blue bust hugging abaya would be a bit over the top in a sea of swaying black.
I picked up my cell phone to call Ayah to discuss the colour and her thoughts on fit. With no answer, and an impulse buy situation on my hands, I decide to call her husband whom I had not had the pleasure of meeting as of yet, but had his number in the event of an emergency, and clearly this constituted an emergency.
He answered the phone, and knew from my accent who I was. After exchanging pleasantries, he asked awkwardly “Angela are you calling me from the toilet?”
I explained no from a change room broom closet in an abaya shop. He gasped horrified, “Angela where is your abaya?” I said, “On the floor of this broom closet, I was hoping you could tell me what would be culturally acceptable for colour and fit.”
He began to howl with laughter. “Let me get this straight, you are calling me, a married man you have never met, from a change room broom closet, while not wearing your abaya to ask me particulars of women’s abaya fashion?” I said “of course, I could not get in touch with Ayah” in a very matter of fact manner, wondering what was the issue.
Then the reality and ridiculousness of the situation hit me, and we both began to laugh uncontrollably. He said laughing, “You had better not tell my wife, I don't know you, and you are exposed!” Here traditionally, women are only able to be uncovered in the privacy of their own homes with immediate family. Certainly not in any public place, even if it is a dark broom closet.
Once again applying western male / female norms of engagement and interaction logic to any given Saudi situation was a complete breach of respect and dignity.
As it may seem, I am single handedly changing the Saudi social norms here through my presence within our small circle. In all social situations now my close Saudi friends have a popular “disclaimer” to explain my behaviour with their acquaintances; “It's not right, it's not wrong, it's just Angela!”
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Helpful Hints for Western Women living in Saudi Society: Rule # 4
Do not dance with married men at mixed parties.
Case in Point:
Being invited to a private house party within the first two weeks of our arrival seemed to be a feat of immeasurable proportion. This surely symbolized acceptance, as these partygoers would be the liberal elite.
I had no idea what to expect, but I had this feeling that I was about to be baptized by liquid fire, or scrutiny which ever came first potentially. The thought of no social lubricant to ease the social situation was a bit of a stress.
The important points to remember:
1) Don’t look offended when people automatically assume you are American, this puts people off
2) Introduce people with thoughtful details (Thank you Bridget Jones)
3) Don’t fall and break your neck in those stiletto heels while swinging your borrowed Coco Channel handbag sans Kleenex (why can I never remember Kleenex?)
4) Smile and nod even if you do not understand Arabic, or thick accents
5) Kindly excuse yourself to the bathroom if you have nothing intelligent to say and or feel that others are discussing you in Arabic while in your presence
6) Under no circumstances do you tell anyone you are a mere farm girl from Rodney Ontario with a deep-rooted red neck family bloodline
7) Always reek of confidence as you are not wearing cologne
8) FAKE IT till You MAKE IT (Words to live by Thank you Kathleen)
En route, I had envisioned the party scene in my head many times over. I was certain that it would be similar to the house parties back home minus the keg of beer and keg stands of days gone by. I did however assume that the majority of the guest would be huddled in the kitchen, a phenomenon typical of the Canadian house party, but surely synonymous the world over.
Leaving my abaya in the car, we streamed toward the house brimming with excitement. I felt an adrenaline rush knowing I was exposing my feminine form in the Kingdom, my subdued version of streaking in public.
You could have imagined the shock evident on my face and portrayed through my body language when we waltzed through the door to be confronted with a scene that emulated that of a “western culture” grade eight-graduation dance party. I think my jaw literally dropped open. This was nothing I had expected at all, I guess I really was not sure what to expect! Then it dawned on me that the fact that men and women were converging together for a party was a mere miracle in and of itself. Typically men and women celebrate occasions, even weddings separately here. I felt so privileged to be included in this monumental shift in paradigm.
The cloth covered tables, and chairs were arranged in a circular pattern around the implied dance floor. The DJ was playing loud top forty tunes, the fog machine was in overdrive, and the crazy laser light show was tripping the light fantastic. For a moment I thought for sure I smelt burnt toast, but then I just realized that my stomach was in my throat, and all eyes were on us, skeptical of who we were and whom we had arrived with.
Matt nodded reassuringly moving me forward, and I reached for his hand squeezing hard. Before I knew it I was introduced to the room of reserved shy guests, and found myself sitting in a chair being served decadent ice cream treats by a band of elegantly dressed servants. The tabletops were flooded with complimentary packs of cigarettes, red bull, and various other beverages.
To my amazement, everyone had their chairs turned to face the dance floor, and where sitting or standing dancing in front of their chairs, no one dancing together, with one another. I was aware that I was most likely feeling uncomfortable with all eyes on me because my chair was facing them all straight on and I was not chair dancing.
I sat taking in the whole sensory overload situation, and feeling the tension in the room building decided to jump in with both feet, if this was a mixed party then lets get it started with a little western flavour!
I leapt out of my seat, and grabbed a gentleman by the arm dragging him to the dance floor. His eyes darted from me, to Matt, to his wife, and back to me over and over again. In this gesture, I had broke all of the cultural norms in one sweeping motion. I was not wearing an abaya, dancing with another woman’s husband.
Being at a party on a compound, I assumed all norms of Saudi culture would be tossed aside, and I was free to shake my ass with whom ever I pleased. My dance partner’s wife looked very unimpressed, so he dismissed himself and returned back to her side, but I did not give up. I kept grabbing man and woman, one after another until finally I must have hit the jackpot with a ‘single’ guy who was more than happy to sassy salsa with me. Thank you Barbara Grumme! You saved my ass, stunning the crowd with my salsa prowess in heels no less, I was able to subdue the men, and quell the wild wives with my dance moves extraordinaire.
The fever was contagious. Before I knew it the dance floor was full of people vouging, rocking, and intermingling wildly. It was like a Church street bomb had gone off in mere seconds and I was magically transported back to Fly wrapped up in the curtains with Darcy high on life, as in a flash I was surrounded by the Saudi Dykes on Bikes contingent and the life of the party. The night wore on old school style, and I missed home a little less as each moment passed.
I will however be a bit weary of scooping up others husbands to dance, until I get to know people a bit better here, as I am keenly aware I narrowly escaped disaster.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Helpful Hints for Western Women living in Saudi Society: Rule # 3
Do not fondle the MAC Makeup Salesmen because you are excited about a new product line only available in the Middle East, although produced in Canada.
Case In Point:
As a general rule, Canadians are a very easy going relaxed group of people, with a cultural tendency to make direct eye contact when communicating. Combine this with my touchy feely tendency to use physical contact as a form of reassurance that I am listening and understanding while verbally communicating with others, and you can see how this would offend or make Saudi Men very uncomfortable.
As a relatively new import to the Kingdom, I have not yet been able to reprogram my own deeply engrained cultural socializations tendencies.
Here direct eye contact, smiling, or a reassuring touch to some man’s arm when talking is highly frowned upon. Especially the touching part, men and women do not touch here, unless married and in the privacy of their own home. Perhaps because I feel very comfortable here in Jeddah, I almost forget where I am half of the time.
I now have to remember not to pinch Matt’s bum in public to drive him crazy, no smooch bite on the cheek, and absolutely no feel my triceps tricks! So many things to keep in check and remember while being surrounded by the chaos of our children. That is enough to make anyone crazy these days.
So I find myself at the MAC makeup store at the Red Sea Mall. Standing out like a sore thumb, the MAC Salesmen approaches me to ask if I need any help. I explain that I am just looking and he asks me where I am from. I say Canada, and he perks up, explaining that MAC is produced in Canada. Feeling a bit home sick, I immediately feel connected to this gentleman through my perceived “Canadian Connection”. We begin to discuss makeup, and he proceeds to tell me about the line of eyeliners produced in Canada specifically for the Middle East. I become very excited at the prospect of this marvelous product, as my eyeliner and mascara run continuously here from the heat.
Showing me the products, I thank him and touch his forearm while making direct eye contact, and smiling brilliantly into his face at close range.
His eyes flared wide open and he stepped back in amazement and discomfort for sure. It then dawned on me, that I am forbidden to touch him.
Trying to make the situation a little more comfortable, I said, “I am not supposed to touch you, am I?” He politely said, “No”. I then apologized, and he said, “don’t worry it was wonderful, now I must close the store and go to prayer.”
Nothing like being and feeling like a modern day Jezebel, in a Muslim world. I am certain that my social tendencies have painted me as such, and feel a little bit more edgy and dangerous as a result; thus I am ok with that!
Helpful Hints for Western Women living in Saudi Society: Rule # 2
Always carry Kleenex, or napkins with you at all times in your purse or bag.
Case In Point:
Much like China, the public toilets here are the simple squat over the top lavoritories in the floor, complete with “ass wand” (as Matt affectionately refers to it) for rinsing, no toilet paper.
Now I have great balance, but combine this with my limited ability to remember rule # 2, the fact that I never carry a purse or hand bag, and am wearing an abaya, a pair of jeans, with perhaps explosive bungle area and that is a recipe for disaster.
Perhaps I need to find a more refined Saudi Lady who could explain the use of the “ass wand” and proper sway and dry technique before you pull your underwear and pants up over a very wet behind, with abaya drenched in water. Again, I think it goes back to my laziness, and I should really remove my abaya before such bathroom endeavors. Although, I am not sure if removing the abaya before hand would have helped.
At the very least, I had a very good 20-minute glute, hamstring, and quad work out squatting through the duration of my ordeal. Only to be met by Matt in the airport immigration line to be told, “you smell like poot!”
Time to purchase a purse and pack it with Kleenex to avoid such experiences again.
Helpful Hints for Western Women living in Saudi Society: Rule # 1
Always wear underwear or some other type of preferably longer appropriate undergarments underneath your abaya.
Case In Point:
I have never been a fashionista, and actually would prefer to wear my pajamas 24 hours a day regardless, which is dangerous for a women of my desired comfortability level in a place like Saudi Arabia. Here we are required to wear an abaya when out of our homes, which I have become quite attached to as it conceals my lack of fashion and ill-fitting clothing.
Long gone are my days of baby doll pajamas with no undergarments under my abaya to deliver Felyx to school I am afraid. Thank goodness I learned that lesson without to much dignity lost, or a good caning.
Seriously, abayas are dangerous for me because I have the most beautiful elegant abayas, designed by Ayah Al Bokhari of Cherrylicious herself! These garments are the envy of all Saudi Women, and have fed my laziness in the dressing department. No matter what I look like while in the comfort of my home, as soon as I step outside with Ayah’s abaya, I am the most fashionable beautiful creature swaying beneath my cloak of deception.
Anyway, back to the lesson:
Small children and abayas do not mix! I will be grateful when Ayah designs me the MC Hammer lightweight cotton style pant abaya with the zipper down the front!
So wearing my short shorts and tank top under my abaya, I call the limo driver to take Kristine, myself, and the boys to the Mega Mall. Here we can window shop, while letting the boys run wild through the mall for a change of scenery, as the compound gets a little boring,
Of course Tyl is having a throw down temper tantrum in the middle of the mall, and I reach down to pick him up.
I grabbed him and tried to place him huggy bear style on my hip. His shoe had become caught in between the snaps of my abaya and as he kicked, he ripped the whole thing wide open, exposing my short shorts! You could have heard a pin drop in that mall. Everyone stopped to glare in disapproval, with gasps erupting off of their lips. All I could hear before the berating I received from an older Saudi Man was the squeak of the escalators.
Frustrated and ready to kick someone’s ass, I collected myself buttoned my abaya, and hauled my child through the mall.
Then it dawned on me like Murphy’s Law. Abaya accidents can and will occur at the most unfortunate inopportune times, so be prepared, wear underwear in addition to longer shorts, skirts, or pants underneath your abaya to avoid being chastised!
Oh, another hazard to be weary of in Saudi Shopping Malls; abayas and escalators do not mix. Beware.
With this enlightenment, I have resolved to come to a compromise for the time being until I receive my pant zipper abaya; I will simply wear my pajama pants for now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)