The Strange Day.

Mariam and I slept in. We got up, did our stuff. Everything was normal till I started to make lunch. I took a chicken out of the fridge and got it ready for cooking. I peeled off two layers of plastic and lifted the chicken out of the little styrofoam boat it had been sitting it. I brought the chicken over to the sink to rinse it off and rub it with seasoning, I turned the body over and saw that the wings still had a bunch of boney looking, sharp pin feathers in them. Ish. I thought to myself, "This is fine (blah) it's normal. I am going to pull these out and enjoy my meat." I have cleaned deer, made dead geese dance, eaten fish with eyes, but for some reason this grossed me out. It was processed, it was not suposed to be like that! Pin feathers are hard to get out and I can now see how a few stayed attached after the meat processing plant had it's hands on it. I had to squeeze them out, like removing a splinter or popping a giant pokey zit. Mike got home with sandwiches when the chicken was half done. We decided to have it for dinner. A really fun picnic dinner by the sea! with tea! and chess! A good idea.

I cooked the chicken up with some fava beans and chick peas, green peppers and onions. We packed some cheese and crackers, fig bars, tea and water. The two of us managed to get all that and Mariam out the door right at sunset. The Red Sea is about a five minute drive from our apartment. The shore is all developed pretty well, with sidewalks and plenty of little gazebos and benches for anyone to use. The sun was sinking down quicker than I wanted it to, so we pulled off at a close spot where there is a wave breaker and little stone piers for people to picnic on. A few groups of people had claimed some of the piers, but there were lots open. A nice one in the middle looked like it was just for us. I got out of the car and a cute little garbage cat came up to me. It followed me and my chicken out to the end of the pier where Mike had set out the blanket and these humps we have so that you can lean comfortably as you sit on the ground (I am not sure what they are called, they are popular here). Mariam was rolled out in her stroller. Everything was set for fun! I opened the pot of chicken. All of a sudden little eyes and ears and tails popped out of the rocks.

Garbage cats everywhere! They came closer, all sizes and colors. Some were brave, some scared off easily. They wanted my chicken that I had worked so hard on trying to enjoy. They had scary looks in their eyes. It was so hard for me, my brain is wired to love cats. I got up and stomped on the ground and banged my shoes and tried to shout at them. The guys next to us must have thought we were the stupidest, most entertaining things. Mike "PSSSSSSSSSSSTED" at them, but garbage cats do not know that language. They kept coming. We were trying to stick it out. Mariam was not in danger, the cats would not come that close. We lasted about two minutes before I said I was uncomfortable. I got up, looked down the rocky edge of our pier to check out the cat situation, and I saw it. It was as big as a cat, shaped like a half moon.

A big grey rat was sitting there in the dark, about four feet up from the salt water. The cats could care less. They were not going to help me in this situation like any decent cat would. These were BAD cats. I bet they team up with this thing. That was it. We ran out of there. We drove up the shore to our usual, clean, bright, populated spot. I checked for rats unter the car seat, in the pot with the chicken, and in my purse. Arrgah! We got a new clean cat and rat-less spot and tried to eat the chicken. Neither of us could stomach it. Lesson learned: if not a lot of people are there, and it seems like a really nice place, it is not. Get out.

Arabic Coffee

Here is how to make one crazy pot of this stuff:

Grind up a bunch of light roast coffee till you have about 3/4 of a cup, or get some pre-ground. The finer the better, think powder.
Grind up some cardamom, about a 1/4 of a cup!
Grate some ginger, about a teaspoon.
If you are fancy get a 1/4 teaspoon of saffron.

Boil 3 cups of water on the stove, add coffee, cover, and continue to boil on a low heat for about 15 to 20 min.
Add cardamom, ginger, and your saffron. Let boil another 3 to 5 min.
Remove from heat, let sit for 5 minutes.
Pour into your thermos or coffee pot unfiltered. You can leave the goopy stuff in the pot from the stove or keep it with your coffee. It all settles to the bottom anyhow.



It is a pretty intense brew. They eat it with dates here to make up for the bitterness. I like the taste. Don't go adding any sugar either, all you true Minnesotan black coffee drinkers should be fine with it anyway.

I make this for Mike before he has to go to work2: tutoring fourth graders.

Arranged Friendship.

When you move anywhere different I suppose it is hard to meet new people and make new friends. When you are a girl who has had trouble all her life feeling comfortable enough to make friends with ease, it is extra tough. I said to Michael tonight what I have been thinking about for the past few days, "It takes me a good six to eight months of working/schooling with someone every day in order for me to even think about being comfortable hanging out on a weekend." He laughed and said he was going to write that one down. I told him I would write it down. It is true, and I will not be slow to admit it! I feel more comfortable giving a presentation to a room full of 150 college students than I do riding in a car with a girl I have worked with for a few months. I would love to just wear a shirt that says, "shy and slow to warm up". Maybe people would have a bit of empathy for me and not just think I was being rude, which is what my anxiety ridden mind figures most people come to believe.

One of the reasons I married Michael and had the guts to follow him across the world is that he holds the opposite friendship making power. He has made plenty of friends here already. I knew we wouldn't just be lonely shut ins here in Jeddah, even if I think sometimes that I want to be. We have been invited to many lunches, dinners, and outings to the sea. A challenge for me here is that traditionally when you go to dinner at someone's home, the husbands go to one room and the wives go to another for the entire night. I have refused each and every invitation like this so far. I can not go without my Michael Abraham shield, and I just feel that it is wrong and a strange thing to do. If we are invited to the co-worker who I have head so much about's home for dinner, I want to meet him, not just his wife in another room. I put the burden on poor Michael to explain to them that I am not comfortable with this set up, and sometimes people comply and sometimes we just don't go. This is something I am planning on getting over (eventually) just to be more polite. :P

Last night I went to our friend's villa for dinner with just Mariam. We have been to their home several times as a family, and I had met this couple before we even moved. So I am finally somewhat comfortable sitting alone with this woman. My arranged friend Fartun. That is what it feels like to me, an arranged friendship. We don't know much about each other, we didn't pick each other. But, we are two Minnesotains in a strange country, and our husbands are good friends. So we are friends. She is really nice, and we are getting to know each other. I still feel great anxiety over this arrangement. What if she doesn't like me and we just have to hang out because we feel obligated?

Mariam and her arranged friend Thaina

If you don't work, and you don't get out much in Minnesota, you really never ever meet new friends. Here the socializing is different. Perhaps one of my biggest social nightmares came true tonight. We were at a mall (big surprise) and Mike saw a student he knew from school. A kid who is in a different grade than he teaches, but he knew him because the boy has such a reputation for being a trouble maker. Mike waved and said hello, and we went over and met his mother and little sister. His mother is a Moroccan who grew up in London, so her english is perfect. She seemed a little older, and had that agressive middle eastern hospitality along with diamonds all over her. She asked how I liked it here (fine), if I had friends (yes), if I was working (not right now). Michael chimed in on the last one that maybe later, when I became more adjusted here. She replied, "Oh she does not need any time! It is good here, easy to get used to, not like in America or Europe!" Then she asked me for my mobile number and said that we could get lunch one day and that my little girl could come too. Ok...
EAT LUNCH WITH A STRANGER! NO! GIVE MY NUMBER TO A STRANGER! NO! Mike does not even really know her son! Why is this happening! I was conditioned a little to heartily with stranger danger as a kid, and I still have not gotten over it. Michael says this is how people do it here. You learn someone's name and then you go do things with them, no thoughts about it. Bah. I want to toss my phone into the Red Sea and hide with the garbage cats. What if this woman calls!?

I know what I have to do about all of this though. My dad has told me since I was six. Get over it, look people in the eye, and say hello.