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!

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!

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!” 

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.

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.