a love letter to minnesota

My Beloved Minnesota,

Oh! How I miss you. I have been living in a state of perpetual hot and dusty winter. It is forever March in this country, you know, the month when everyone is angry inside, depressed, thinking spring my never come to their home or their hearts. The time of year when people are unnecessarily rude to strangers, when your coworkers seem on edge because the winter has been so long and hard and it seems like it will never break. It is a hot and dusty March for the whole calendar in Saudi Arabia.

Sometimes, I bring the computer in the bedroom and put on frog and cricket noises. I turn off the air conditioner and let the hot, thick dessert meets sea air into the blackened room. It is so still, and the frogs and crickets make me believe I am in a tent after a long day of hiking. Other times I will go to the mall and get frozen yogurt with raspberries on top. I taste one and close my eyes, dreaming of the day summers ago when I went raspberry picking with my friends in Duluth. I didn't have time to can them all so I carried a huge bucket around with me up the north shore to a luxury cabin and spent the evening eating as many as I could as I sat on the lake with Scott, Kathleen and their friends. That night I slept alone on the beach of Superior, cradled in the tiny rocks as I watched a meteor shower. I try so hard to remember what it feels like to lay in a lush green lawn and read the newspaper. How the grass smells, and how if you stay long enough the moisture from the plants and dirt make your clothes damp. I swirl my hands in the full laundry tub and remember your lakes, rivers, and streams.

Your people are quiet and forgiving. They form lines at shops, drive in a courteous manner, and say hello as you walk past them on your sidewalks. They keep to themselves and treat each other fairly. Your people value education, new ideas, quality, cleanliness, and systems that work. Last summer when I came for a visit, I got to the airport terminal to board my Minnesota flight. I could feel you in the room, Minnesota. I could see you in the old man who read the paper and made snarky comments about republicans that sat by us in the airplane. He offered us half his pizza and half his kit kat. I had a cup of caribou coffee on my affordable and modest Minnesota flight. I can not wait to be on that same airplane, my head glued to the window looking for signs of Wisconsin big woods, muddy streams, and baseball fields in parks. When I see the Mall of America right before we land I will probably choke up a bit.

I can not wait to go to the State Fair and run my hands through the different breeds of corn in the agriculture building. I can't wait to smell that hot oil in the food building, and to drink honey lemonade in a grove of Christmas trees brought in from all around the state. I want so badly to get stuck in a crowd watching a cow give birth on Seniors and Kids day. My heart just aches when I think of how great it will be to watch live music with a 9 o'clock fair breeze blowing through my hair. This year I want to take Mariam on Ye Old Mill and make animal sounds from the bench behind her as we float and bump around in the dark.

I cut out a paper version of you, and taped it to the wall in my living room. The colored paper is already faded from the constant sun. Thirty days till I am in-route to you again, my beloved Minnesota. Even if just about everything goes wrong or nothing fun happens at all, as long as I am in you this summer, I will have the best time of my life.

beauty salon.

A few days ago I played a round of "How old are you, why do you have so many gray hairs, why don't you dye your hair?" with the mother of my tutoring students. The day after, she and her 29 year old niece cornered me. "If you want to dye your hair I know of a place you can go to get it done!" Turns out the niece was going there the very next day, and that meant I was going along too.  Now, I have been growing my natural hair out for a few years, and had decided against coloring it to see how gray a girl in her late 20s could get. But apparently it was aging me terribly. After some womanly pressure, I was signed up to go to a Jeddah salon.

At five o'clock on Wednesday we picked up Shoda (the niece) and Mike drove us to a big white building that has fancy color changing lights on it at night, Rima Salon.  We got dropped off at the door. It had a sign taped to it "ABSOLUTELY NO MEN ALLOWED". (what happens if a pipe bursts or a computer needs fixing? I have a feeling there isn't a listing for female ITs or plumbers in this country.) I knew I was in for a treat. We walked into a lobby that went up about three or four stories, with hundreds of little glass bubbles suspended from the ceiling. Three older women with various versions of blond highlights and skin tight shirts greeted us at the front desk, two were smoking cigarettes. Shoda signed us in and one of the women laughed when she was given my name, "Arab name!" (by the way Saudi Arabia, my last name is not Ibrahim, no matter how bad you want to spell it that way.)

Shoda started guiding me around the salon with six floors, mazes of frosted glass walls and small rooms, doing all of our business in Arabic. Shoda had big plans for me. First she found her preferred stylist. She told the lady that she wanted a dramatic change for me, black hair, "corrected" eyebrows. The stylist began touching my hair and telling Shoda "Haraam! Haraam!" basically saying it would be a sin to do that to my hair. I went the entirety of my teen years looking like a homeless clown, trying every hair color, so hearing that I might be getting a black dye job did not shake me up a bit. But, Shoda folded on the black and picked a dark brown from the samples instead. "I am going to make you look Arab" she said. I got visions of huge hair and tropical pink and blue eyeshadow. She assured me that she preferred the "natural" look, and that I would love it and be addicted to it like caffeine. 

The dye went in and she began to talk eyebrows. I guess my norwegian eyebrows had bothered her since the first time she saw me. I will admit, they are a bit lighter than my hair color somehow, and a little sparse. Truthfully I never knew what to do with them, so I left them alone in fear that if I tried anything they would end up drawn on like my grandma's.  Shoda reviled that her eyebrows were tattoos, but advised me against getting them tattooed because you can't change them ever again. I also learned that in Islam, you are not supposed to pull hair out of your face. That means no waxing or plucking on your head, so I started wondering what they were going to do to my eyebrows in this Muslim country. Shave them. They shave and bleach any hair on the face. Apparently it is fine to wax the entire rest of the body, and to tattoo on eyebrows, but no tweezers anywhere above the neck. I have no clue why.

It was time for my color to come out and for the haircut. I like having my hair done by people who don't speak my language, you are always in for a good surprise, and you don't have to chit chat. The lady working on me had orangey Farah Fawcett hair, and her assistant looked like Left Eye from TLC. I honestly felt pretty confident in them, and they did a great job on me. Left Eye did go a little long with the hairdryer though, I don't care to see smoke or steam or whatever was floating off my hair from the round brush. The style turned out cute, with more of the natural look that was promised. Also, as I was being cut, I was treated to the sounds of an Arab cat fight outside my room. Screams like you have never heard before, in a language that lends its self a little too well to sounding angry like you have never heard before, doors slamming, then the hairdryer came on. Sigh. The fight was coming from the bridal section.

Finally I was ushered into the eyebrow room. A few women waited on couches with bleach all over their faces. I was seated in the operating chair, and my eyebrow "problem" was discussed over me in Arabic. I closed my eyes as a little straight razor was waved above them. Scrape, scrape scrape. Done. Then I felt a little brush of cool thick liquid on my eyebrows. COLOR. Once she was done, I was tilted up to a mirror to approve the shape, well no going back now really. I was told the tint will only last about a week, as I waited the ten minutes in uncertainty. The girl bushed off all the dye and underneath were little dark eyebrows. Totally reasonable. Shoda was not happy, she wanted darker, more drama! The eyebrow girl disagreed and told Shoda that she was afraid I would yell at her, because the only other American she worked on had gotten very angry and yelled at her. I told the girl I was pleased, and Shoda asked what my husband would think. I said, "He will like these, no problem." Shoda seemed even less satisfied and whisked me away to a mirror that was not being used. She got out her makeup bag and started painting gel eyeliner on my still too light brows. "You need to buy this makeup, you will love this. You will become addicted!" She showed me my new brows and asked, "What will your husband say?!" "Uhh, nothing," I replied. Shoda loved them, and at last felt accomplished. 

unearthly

Michael came to pick us up. I got in the front seat and Shoda sat in back next to Mariam. The car was silent. I looked back at Mariam, she was squirming around in her car seat, covering her mouth and trying to look out the window between wiggles. After about three minutes of quiet, Mariam appropriately shouted "EYE-BOROWS!" I just about peed my abaya laughing.

Natural. When I got home. After some scrubbing.

personality flaws and cultural differences.

Most of you are probably aware that I suffer from a very thick form of shyness. Garrison Keillor would quaintly blame my Minnesotan upbringing and my Scandinavian relatives, and I wouldn't be quick to prove him otherwise. You could label it Social Anxiety. It has been diagnosed, medicated, counseled, and I have made large attempts to rewire it out of my brain.


I feel like in the past few years I have gotten to be ok and pretty functional with my everyday irrational feelings of self-consciousness, judgment, evaluation, and inferiority in social situations. I have taken, and done well in, several highly interactional jobs as a challenge to myself. Recruiting, training, placing, and managing 130 college kids to volunteer within a school, no problem. However, I have never in my life been up to calling to order a pizza or paying for a tank of gas inside the store, ever. (what if they laugh at my topping choice!?) Even small social interactions with people I know can be incredibly taxing for me.


In this country and culture I moved into, social anxiety is not a recognized or understood thing. People are loud, aggressive, and the passive question simply dose not exist in their language. It is not, "May I have a cup of coffee?" in this place it is, "Give me a cup of coffee!" and if you do not have one to give you are just expected to explain yourself frankly. Women approach me randomly in public outright asking for my phone number so I can come to their house and we can be friends. I tell them I do not have a phone. I curl up inside. I lie.


My husband has explained to many others before I meet them, "she is shy". I don't know if this really helps me or not. Here they take shyness as a positive virtue, a sign that this woman is modest and therefore probably loves god a lot. They would never think it to be a selfish and rude thing, but then again they have never experienced my "shy". A person with my "shy" would probably be committed to the back of their parents house in embarrassment from the family.


The woman downstairs was warned of my shyness, and treats it the nicest way she knows how. It is also my nightmare. She points things out directly, "You are not relaxing! Here are seven more pillows to put behind your back and you must put your feet up like this..." When a long time goes between visits she exclaims as I enter her home, "You have forgotten me?! You do not like me!? Why!?".  I like her fine, I am just afraid she will not like me.


This week I have started my new job working with two second graders after school each day. I go through lessons with them, make them think for themselves, and have them coloring some serious butterfly lifecycle diagrams. I go to their beautiful apartment and I bring my two daughters along to be watched by their mother and maid as I teach. I get paid quite a bit and they feed me all kinds of nice things when I am there. It is a wonderful job, but I want to find any excuse to quit going.


The problem is not my students. It is not the extra time it takes out of my day. It is the fact that I have to interact with a Saudi woman on a regular basis, and she is not only judging me, but also my children. She is a nice lady and wants me to like her very much. But that dose not stop the cultural differences, "Lindsay, do not hold your baby like that!" I guess for the first four or five months infants here are not allowed to be in an upright position. Nora loves being held sitting up in my lap, her favorite is being held vertically against my chest. But this prompts a stern look and a comment in this country, you know, because they better save Nora from developing good head control and muscle tone, it might be too stressful for her. 


Yesterday Nora was brought into my room crying. "You must take her to the hospital!" I try to assure the mother of four that Nora is simply overtired and needs to be placed in a dark, quiet room. "Oh Lindsay, Lindsay! No you must take her to the hospital as soon as we are done here. Something is wrong! You will not sleep tonight if you do not take her!" I should tell you that everyone here goes to the hospital for each cold or bump they get. The doctors give a note to give to the pharmacist for some Panadol (tylenol) and the patient is happy and cured! There was nothing wrong with Nora at all. The maid took her and put her in a dark room and all was saved. This did not stop me from my feelings, even though I was proven correct. My whole body shook in under-confidence and panic. I sent the kids to go work on their science project and I sat and drank some tea, hoping that no one would notice my unsteady hands and send me to the hospital.


I guess I am writing this to avoid letting myself quit. I am not looking for pity in this confession to you, I am simply trying to out the negative thoughts from my brain. Reinforce the point of not walking away from my fears. I have been strong before. Now, I should go work on my lesson for today. It is looking kind of cloudy out, and a bit windy, so I will honestly be hoping for rain. Then I do not have to go. Because if there is one thing that these people are more afraid of than holding your baby upright, it is the rain.

Sugar.

Saturday afternoon I mixed up a big jug of Tang for our fourth grade boys that take over the living room most days of the week. I also had a double batch of peanut butter cookies for them to try. Nice, right? Beside the fact that one requested I make sandwiches for them (not pb&j, but tuna or chicken would be fine) they all noted that I did not add any additional sugar to the Tang. I made strong Tang, so thick it looked like neon orange milk. I remember how I liked my powdered drinks in fourth grade, and I tried to make these boys realize how hip I am to the nine year old taste bud.  However, they were disappointed that there was not a sweet sludge of extra sugar granules at the end of each glass. I guess I just don't understand Arab taste, and I am not blind to health.

Tang made in Bahrain

In a discussion with Nora's Pediatrician about breastfeeding he advised that, "You should take your supplements, because they will not make you fat." and "To boost your milk supply you need to drink a lot of liquids, like juice. But do not add any sugar to your orange juice." At the time I tried to tell myself that people do not add sugar to orange juice, he must have meant that I look for juices with no sugar added, and not to drink Tang.  Later that week when I was visiting downstairs, the woman was getting fed up with me because I would not take any sugar in my tea. "You need sugar to make your milk, you need extra, extra sugar!" she said as she added spoon after spoon into my drink. I didn't say much, smiled and drank my Ceylon and mint syrup.

I observed more, and began to think that maybe these people would add sugar to their orange juice. Michael has come home telling me horrific stories of men adding 13 sugar cubes to small cups of tea. When he confronted the Phys. Ed. teacher at his school about his sugar use, he said, "Who tells you sugar is bad?! It can not make you fat! Who tells you this?"

I finally saw it the other night. We were taken out for dinner by a family who's boy Mike had taught. The mother sat across from me. She was a short, round woman with a bright face and a gaudy taste in jewelry. She ordered no food, but she did request a single glass of orange juice and a glass of ice. I watched all night as she opened sugar packets and dumped five or six over the ice. Then she would pour about an inch of juice over it, stir it with the end of her knife, and sip it like a cocktail. Repeat. The juice lasted the whole meal this way, and probably had twenty five to thirty sugar packets mixed in. At the end of the evening we ordered coffee. She ordered cappuccinos for me and herself, and mentioned to the waiter, "Extra sweet for the ladies, please!" Thank god it came unsweetened with an extra row of sugar packets on the side. I stopped watching her sugar, I didn't want to understand how much "extra sweet" was to her.

As for the boys, I refuse to add extra sugar to the Tang. It is the first ingredient, and I already added extra mix to the water. Also, I think it will be apples and bananas for snack the rest of the week. I can't wait to see what the reaction is when I start throwing veggies in there for them. "Teacher, what is this?"

Fulla loses her religion.

So, I am not going to lie. We did part of Christmas a little early. In the car on the way home from Toys R Us, early. Mariam has been talking a lot about dolls lately, so I thought I would gift her one that was a little more grown up than the babies she already has. I have been curious about these "Fulla" dolls since I got here. It is basically a Muslim Barbie, complete with headscarf and abaya.

We were at the store and Fulla was a little cheeper than Barbie and had dark hair, two things that really appeal, not to mention how novel the idea was to me. I picked out a basic model from the "Fruity Abaya" line. Lemon-Mint Fulla came all wrapped up in her black outdoor clothes. On the back of the box you could see the outfit she had on underneath, double the wardrobe!

I took the box out in the car to look at it on the way home. Of corse Mariam saw it right away from her newly forward facing car seat, "DOLL! DOLL! DOLL!" I tried to put Lemon-Mint back in the bag and tears and shouting erupted. We had a slow and stressful drive (as always here) ahead of us, so I gave in and took Fulla out of the box. I probably wanted to see her more than Mare did anyway. I handed the doll to Mariam I could hear velcro being ripped and then a frustrated, "OUT"! Lemon-Mint was given back to the front seat to have her Abaya removed. It came off relatively easy, but her headscarf seemed to be securely attached. On the back of the box Fulla had flowing hair and no scarf on with her casual shirt and stretch pants. I thought the headscarf would have an easy off, but like lots of kids toys, the box was a little deceptive. I made some joke to Michael about Fulla having to be inside with the door shut before the headscarf could come off, also he probably shouldn't see her sans abaya since she isn't related to him.

We got home and I did a full inspection of Lemon-Mint with Mariam watching intently over my shoulder. We took off all her clothes. Fulla has incredibly skinny arms and much smaller boobs than Barbie does. She also has built in underwear that goes down to her knees and a square neck undershirt that most women in America would wear as just a shirt. Her fashionable little headscarf was not coming off. I told Michael to get me the scissors. I could see it was attached by little black plastic loops implanted into her head. It was hard to tell if it was supposed to stay that way or if it was like the other 1,000 pieces of plastic and wire bands that I had to take off to get Fulla out of the box. I decided along with Mariam, "OFF". Oops, I totally killed Lemon-Mint's modesty, and she was a Christmas gift, what am I doing to this young skinny Muslim doll! It was not meant to come off. Her hair was just sort of long black and hacked, not at all like the styled photo, I guess you have to do that yourself.

Mariam loves it by the way, she has taken off the clothes about 90 times already.

I did some more finding out Fulla. I checked out her website to find gems like this:

Under the "Learning" link there is a section titled "Dressing Modest". There you can find recipes for a fairer face and one to take care of your rough and ugly feet, articles about what fabric patterns to choose to flatter your figure, what your wardrobe style says about your personality type and one called "Food Makes You Prettier, But?" It is like an issue of Cosmo aimed at six year olds, nothing about dressing modestly.

My favorite is the "Inspiring Words" section. It just says, "Better be a cub in the family of lions than be a king of the Ostriches." Really? Fulla is hating on Ostriches now?

I am sure there are stranger things written in the "Whispers" section. Thats where they give some girl advice. I am really too tired to read all that right now though, and kinda weirded out.

Merry early Christmas.

backwards month.

Mariam and I arrived back from our visit to the States (yes I can call it that now that I don't live there) on August 9th. It was a great flight considering how pregnant I was and that I had an almost 2 year old in tow. Anyway, we retuned to Saudi Arabia and found it in a very unfamiliar state to us, Ramadan.

To keep it simple Ramadan is THE Muslim holiday, it goes on for a whole month. You can do more research if you don't know much about it, or want to know the religious aspects of it. This is how it appears to me:

1) Muslims don't eat or drink during the day.
Exceptions are pretty broad for this, ranging from if you are traveling to if you just plain old don't feel well. This means no restaurants are open during the day! What a sad but healthy time for a pregnant lady. I can't get Burger King when I want it, and by the time it opens I have talked myself out of the craving and have eaten a bunch of veggies at home.

2) Extra prayers happen.
Muslims pray five times a day. In Saudi Arabia the mosques broadcast the prayers over speakers. We live right next to one, it can be loud. I am pretty used to it happening and sleep through the early prayer, but now there are extra prayers. At about 9PM they start the normal evening one. During Ramadan though, it goes on and on and on as they read parts of the Koran for about an hour. Now, in this last week of the holiday, they do extra prayers that start about 1AM and go for what seems like an hour. I am sure this is pleasant and a reflective time for Muslims, but this 1 in the morning thing has me crabby.

3) People here stay up ALL NIGHT.
That is why the 1AM thing is just fine with them. Since they are not eating or drinking during the day, lots of people have work off, so they sleep all day (cheaters). The Malls and everything are open till 3:30 in the morning for Ramadan. We will go out for shopping at about 9:30 (the Koran reading time) to catch slow traffic. We leave the shops at about 11:30PM, just as everyone starts to come! Little kids and old people filling up Ikea at midnight! It is an unbelievable thing to me. I have participated though, we had our 8 year old neighbor boy with us bowling and playing arcade games till 2AM, totally acceptable. Traffic is awful too, everyone is out and everyone is visiting Jeddah. I can't decide if it is a bad or good thing we came into this from 8 time zones over, Mariam is keeping up a little too well with this night/party life.

4) They buy a lot of things and eat a ton of sweets.
Stores are packed with sales and customers. Extra aisles are put up at the grocery store for baked goods and candy. Hey, sounds a lot like Christmas... only for a whole month!

5) Decorations get put up around shops and all over packaging.
I guess there is not an official theme, but most places have a little extra blue, white, silver and gold around. Moons and stars also show up everywhere as well as fancy lanterns. Places smell nicer too, lots of extra incense are burnt it seems like. I have seen some houses with white christmas lights up and some neighborhood streets with big strings of light bulbs zig zagging from building to building. Some small neighborhood restaurants also put a little red and blue patterned tent out front, so they can better serve people when eating time comes around.

An example of a Ramadan Pepsi can

6) As well as eating extra candy, they have huge dinners every night.
To break the day's fast at sunset Muslims typically eat dates and have a little drink of milk or water. Then comes the heaps of food. Michael, Mariam and I were invited to a real "Iftar" dinner here, hosted by one of Michael's friend's families. I will write a whole separate post about this experience to save this one from being unbearably long. It was a lot of food. I asked the one english speaking woman in the room if dinner was this big every night, and she laughingly replied, "yes"! They also eat a very large meal just before morning prayers and fasting starts again (or just before bed for a lot of folks).

7) Everyone seems extra nice after the sun goes down.
Full bellies and good times with family and friends lead to happy people. They shoot fireworks into the sea, fill up the amusement parks, malls, and playgrounds, and give extra money to poor people. It is better to not try and interact with the outside during the day. People are hurried and irritable from fasting, they can smell funny too. Also, a fasting driver at 6PM is just about as safe as a mildly drunk driver. We have just been staying in getting a lot of things done and wasting a lot of time on the internet. Michael starts work back up next week when this is all over.

Our neighbor kids put this Happy Ramadan sign up downstairs by the door. I thought it was cute so I got them some gummy bears.

8) To finish it all off they have like a bonus three day holiday.
Eid Al-Fitr. Here is an informative article (with recipes!) http://en.news.maktoob.com/20090000998672/Eid_Al-Fitr_Ramadan_s_sweet_ending/Article.htm

That is my experience with Ramadan so far. Totally not a technical, religious, or probably even entirely correct interpretation, but again my experience. It has been heartwarming and also aggravating at times, but over all very interesting to see a whole country take part in something like this holiday.

Do they know it's Easter? Or Christmas?! ummm... not really.

A friend of mine asked me to share my observations about the middle east perceptions of the coming Christian holiday. In Saudi Arabia, they don't really think about it. A large portion of the people probably don't even know about it, or know much about it.

Around the holidays Michael and I were discussing if our friend from Yemen was familiar with Christmas. My bet was that he had heard of it, and maybe saw Santa on TV or something. I knew he watched American movies and things, so I figured he had picked it up at some point. Michael thought that he probably knew nothing about it. I had trouble imagining that. We asked, and he had no clue what we were talking about. Why should he? This man grew up a Muslim in Yemen, and moved to Saudi Arabia a few years ago to find better work. If you look at the pure numbers in Jeddah, I am sure this is a version of the average citizen, legal or otherwise.

Then there are the people that are much better off than our Yemeni friend. This is the other half of the population here. They have TV and books and movies and American cars and clothes. Lots of them have been to America, or at least their dad has on business or something. The kids seem to be aware of the more commercial parts of other holidays. You can't watch many cartoons without a Halloween episode or a Santa sneaking in. But again, they just don't really care. I met a girl my age, an upper class girl who's father travels back and forth to America quite a bit. Her English was good, she had gone to University and studied English lit. We were talking and it was reviled that I was not a Muslim. I am pretty sure that she had never considered that I was not. What am I doing in Saudi Arabia as a non Muslim? Less than 5% of the population here is something other than Muslim! I think I was the first person she had met, who was not serving her dinner, that was non Muslim. We talked about it. She was really glad to be a Muslim, and had never even thought about exploring another religion. But man! She really wanted to go to America.

I was surprised to see hints of Easter popping up at the grocery store this month. You hear a lot of things about this country banning other holidays and practices. But I think in Jeddah, that idea is just a lot of talk to keep the older conservative people and the stricter parts of the country happy. You can find aisles of bunny, lamb, and chick stuffed animals with the toys. There are displays of Easter candy at the front of some stores, and you can buy little fake lilies. Again, you just can't escape the commercialism and western influences here. I can't get a ham, but I can load up on jellybeans and chocolate eggs. Happy Easter.

Coming from a place where the population is 75% Christian, especially if you practice it, I know it has to be hard to imagine a land without Christmas or Easter. But, how much do you really know about Ramadan off hand? It is the same, but backwards here. Growing up in a Muslim country you just really don't know a whole lot about Christian holidays, and you really don't mind. You can still get the candy.


As for the dyed baby chicks they give away as prizes at the arcade, they have been out of them the two times we took our neighbor boy to win one. He says they die quickly anyway (with one shot of the BB gun)!

fair and lovely.

Saudi Arabia is a land of many wonderful beauty products for me. The shelves are filled with so many choices of deep conditioning treatments and moisturizing body scrubs that Michael Abraham circles the grocery store four times by the time I have narrowed it down to a couple choices. My hair and skin is very happy here, for the most part.

They have about every cream and lotion here that they do back in the states, except my old favorite Curél. That was my secret back home, put Ultra Strength Curél all over my face like three times a day. Try it, it works. So I have been on the search for a new facial moisturizer. Jergens body lotion just does not cut it. You would think with all of these other perfect products that I should have no problem. Well, here it is: They have Olay and L'oréal and Garnier and Ponds, all the normal brands. The issue with them is that most of the facial creams are bleaching creams. "Natural White" "Fair and Lovely" "White Beauty" "White Perfect" Night, day, oily, dry... they are almost all skin whiteners as well as your standard cream.


This is an interesting clip I saw a few years ago about skin bleaching in Jamaica.

Now, I am pretty sure that all these big name brands do not use hardcore chemicals in their creams, they stick to the well received alpha hydroxy acids and natural extracts. They just like the label, it sells. But if you look on the bottom shelves you can find off brand creams filled with melanin inhibitors and sometimes mercury. I have seen quite a few oddly fair complexioned women with some pretty scary acne and scars that I assume are caused by these products.

This is the story that takes the cake though. A few weeks ago, we ran into one of Michael's co-workers with his family. They had just had a baby girl. I was talking with the woman and I peeked into the little bundel she had in her arms. All snuggled up was a tiny girl with long dark eyelashes, creamy almond skin, and gold earrings. "She is beautiful!" I was not even just saying that, she was so warm and peaceful. The woman sighed and looked down at her new baby, "She is not beautiful. She is DARK." I was bothered by this. I did not know how to respond. We soon parted ways and I asked Michael if maybe it was some sort of communication error, something lost in translation, even though I felt that it really was not. The next day he went and had a talk with his co-worker. Michael asked about what his wife had said to me. His response was something like, "I love my daughter, she is very lovely in her own way, but she is dark. Her brother is so beautiful with his light skin, but she is dark."

WTF. Really!?! I still think of this every day. I hope this baby girl's skin can not hold her back, I hope her parents outgrow this "hurdle" of her being "dark", I really hope she does not feel pressure to smear on chemicals ever. She is Saudi, what color is she suposed to be!

It is terrible to think of all these white girls in the United States becoming orange and addicted to tanning, and at the same time girls over here are scrubbing and peeling and soaking their skin with chemicals to become whiter. It all can cause skin cancer. Please just enjoy your natural color, for your health and bank accounts!

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.

Unlocking The Beauty Secrets Of The Middle East: Alien Head Princesses

So something I have been struggling with here is how I look when I go out. Getting the proper abaya, putting on the headscarf correctly (or in a way where it won't fall off), what shoes to have on, which giant purse to take, how I will do make-up, what should happen with my hair, etc... I have never cared so much about how I look, really ever. One would think that throwing on a black robe and a scarf would make things so easy. You would never have to think again how you look to the outside world. So simple. Yeah right.

The ladies here all look like they put 19 hours into their appearance when they walk around the mall. Not all of them I guess, but a lot of them. I really want to know how they do it. I want to know how to fit in and not look like a ragamuffin. I want to know how to make that costume they all wear. I have been watching them and looking and thinking and figuring since the day I got here. Being a girl who when she was small got pissed at inaccuracies in other little girls poodle skirts and Laura Ingalls Wilder costumes, I want to do it right.

There is a certain type of young woman that Mike and I have deemed the Alien Head Princess. These girls are pale with thick black eyeliner and lashes, the abayas they have are glitzed out, they have gold and diamonds everywhere you can see, sometimes their headscarfs are all lace, but the identifying feature is the huge lump of hair they keep under the scarf. All the princess's hair is piled up and pinned to the top part of the back of her head, and with the scarf it looks like she has a giant alien head. I WANT TO KNOW HOW!!!

Tonight we went to the souk across the road from our apartment to wander around and avoid the standing water that is still in the streets. I made Mike stop at a shop that looked like a black market Claire's. I walked up and down the two aisles as he stood at the front of the store with Mariam. The walls were covered with crazy cheep jewelry, purses, sunglasses, make-up, and insane hair accessories that most seven year olds would be embarrassed to wear. I found some hints to this alien head look, so I purchased them all for about $3. Then we went by Abayat Corner, a little stand that sells abayas and accessories. There I found the secret to keeping all my hair up in a headscarf, a soft headband with a little extra brim type thing in front. Relief. None of the internet videos told me about this thing, they told me how to use 100 pins and how to fold a scarf so you can wear earrings, and how to do a formal look, and how to do this and that, but none told me how I could just throw on a little band and loosely wrap a scarf around. Finally.

So, I got home, put Mariam to bed, sent Mike down to the neighbor's, and got to work. With all my hairpins, my new doughnut bun shaper that looks like a dish scrubber you put your hair through, the lace headband thing I found at Abayat Corner, and my existing headscarf, I was ready to look like an Alien Head Princess (or at least the hair portion of her). LETS GO!


My arsenal


Huge hair


What I normally look like/Alien Princess Tontie!

Now, I will not really ever wear this look out. I have a long, far way to go. A lot of ladies here use skin lighteners that give them a grey blue pocky look, and then pile on the makeup. I need tons of powder, kohl eyeliner, fake lashes, loads of jewelry and a flashy new abaya before I can mimic a true Alien Head Princess. But it is fun to know and try. I am sure I will pull out my hair doughnut one day before we go to the mall, just to creep Mike out.

It rained here today.

Mariam and I awoke to a thunderstorm this morning! It was not raining, but thunder rumbled though breakfast. Then the rain hit, just a little at first. Just enough rain to make all the dust clump up causing everything to look dirtier. I have seen this happen once before here. It was not very refreshing.

Last time I was talking to my dad on the phone, and I had the big news, "IT SPRINKLED HERE!" he seemed surprised that this was such an odd event. Here are the numbers: December is second to January in precipitation in Jeddah. We get an average of 0.47 inches of rain here this month, January gets 0.55. Yearly we get 2.11 inches of water, you guys in Minnesota get almost 30. I live in the dessert, rain is rare. My dad asked how all the trees, plants and grass they keep get water. The solution, big trucks come around at night and spray all the medians filled with palm trees and blooming flowers every once in a while.

Anyway. The rain kept coming at a sprinkle to a slow pitter-patter. It continued for about an hour and a half. Mike texted me that the school was closing due to the rain and that he would be home early! I went out and took a few photos of our street. Jeddah doesn't bother to have storm sewers or gutters, everything just floods instead. The ground floor of our building is the parking lot, I see a lot of apartments set up like this and the rain must be why.

Last year it rained here for six hours straight. The water filled everything up and people probably thought the world was ending. A lot of the first graders Mike teaches are afraid of rain now because of last year. One little boy was asking, "Teacher, HOW!? HOW IS THE SUN NOT OUT! HOW IS THE SUN DOWN! WHY!!!?? WHY MUST IT RAIN!" Parents showed up early in a panic to get their children and kids were screaming to call their drivers to come get them. It was like a snowstorm in Texas or something.

Shortly after he texted me about the school closing, the rain stopped. The sun came out, and Jeddah returned to normal. 91 degrees and sunny in December.

26 strange things.

Here is a list of some different things about living in Jeddah

1. On is down, off is up. The light switches are backward like that.

2. There are two kinds of electrical outlets. One is for things that run using 125 V the other is for 240 V. Don't get them confused, things may explode.

3. There is no city water or sewer line. Each building has it's own septic tanks and water tanks. Make sure you get a good landlord who monitors these, ours has proven to be great so far.

4. People sleep during the day. If you are not working from about 1 pm to 5 pm, you are sleeping. Then you stay up and go out till very late at night. Playgrounds are vacant durring the day and hopping with kids past sunset. I really need to stop asking the question, "is it going to be open this late?" Ikea is open till 1 on weekends.

Mariam and Michael at a desserted daytime playground.

5. Weekends are Thursday and Friday instead of Saturday and Sunday. Friday is the holy day here, just like Sunday is at home.

6. Prayer calls happen five times a day, starting at about 5:30 am. There are mosques all over and they broadcast the call to prayer on speakers, we can hear about three different ones. It is spooky singing, some may think it is beautiful. If you are out shopping at one of these times, you can keep shopping, but you can't check out. That gives the employees the option to pray if they want.

7. Guys hold hands and kiss-kiss all over this place. It is not gay, but it sure catches me off guard.

8. Most middle class people have maids.

9. Our car gets washed every day by the doorman of our apartment. It would be awfully dusty otherwise.

10. Families and single men have separate sections at most restaurants. It is not as strange as it sounds, the family sections are often times nicer with private booths and hi-chairs for Mariam.

MareBear chillin in the family section at Jamaican Grill

11. Women wear abayas. But not all of them are black, not all women cover there heads, and you rarely see a woman in a full on burka in this city. Women also work at grocery stores and malls here, contrary to popular belief.

12. Lots of men wear long white shirts that go down to there ankels. These are called Thobes. You also see guys rockin' sarongs every once in a while. All the 12 to 20 something boys dress like total hipsters, not kidding.

13. Public art is everywhere.


14. Driving can be scary. Where there are three lanes painted there are typically five lanes of cars. No one looks when turning right, and you have to bully your way through roundabouts.

15. I also need to stop asking the question, "is this a parking space?" Everywhere is a parking space. You can even park people in when you run in to grab food or whatever at the corner stores. The etiquette is that if you are blocked by another person and need to leave, you just stand by your car and lay on the horn. The other driver comes out and scoots the car down a few spots. It happened to us last night.

16. The people here love american food. They have tons of restaurants from the US, fastfood and sit down. Burger King costs about the same here, around $6 for a meal, and Mcdonalds has a 5 riyal ($1.25) menu. You can also find whatever you need at the grocery stores. There are rapidly growing diabetes and obesity problems here as well.

17. You can get ridiculously good local food for super cheep. Foot long tuna, egg, tomato, and cheese sandwich for about $1.25. Yummy shwarma sandwiches for about 50¢.

18. There is a store called Hyper Panda. Like Super Target. There are also just plain Panda stores.

hyper panda sign

19. There are like 1,000 different malls. Some are luxury, some are rundown wastes of time. Lots have ice skating rinks.

20. Lots of parts of this city remind me of Las Vegas, with out all the naked girls, drunkenness and gambling.

21. The people here are really nice. We actually know our neighbors and help each other out all the time. In 4 out of 5 apartments I have lived in in Minnesota I have never befriended a neighbor, you usually just turned the other way or did a quick hello. When I got here neighbors stocked our kitchen with bowls, plates, cups and filled our fridge with lasagna, rice pudding, juice and deserts.

22. Kids rule this town. Everywhere you go you see hundreds of kids. You also see tons of toy stores and stands selling junk toys at parks and on the side of the road. Amusement parks are taking over the city and highways. Guys sell cotton candy in trafic, yesterday I saw one car buy six bags. Every store has it's own play area. All these kids are also allowed to do whatever they want. I have seen kids gorging themselves at the grocery store and rollerblading or riding scooters through stores. The best are when they are driving their Powerwheel convertibles or SUVs and tip over displays. These things are not dangerous, someone will pick it up...

junk toy stand.

23. The S is burnt out on the Saudi German Hospital sign. At night it reads Audi German Hospital. I think this is really funny.

24. 107.1 FM is NPR here. We can listen to This American Life, Prairie Home Companion, and Wait Wait Don't Tell Me as we drive down the seaside. 93.7 also plays American rock music not unlike 93X.

25. Cats are like squirrels here.

meow meow.

26. Everything has a musk scented option. Jergens body lotion, laundry detergent, you name it... these folks are into smelling like musk.

Average day

Mariam and I have been here for twelve days now. We are starting to get into a pattern of normalcy. Here is how it goes:

4 AM: Mariam wakes us up. She is still not quite used to this time change, but this gets better each day. We play and read books till it is time for Michael to get up for work.

6 AM: Breakfast of bananas, cereal and peach nectar eaten on our rooftop patio. We watch the sun rise. Mariam and I try to make friends with the doves that live on the roof by talking to them and leaving them bits of food. It's not really working, but we will keep trying. Mike goes to work.

7 AM: More playing and books. These things never get old with this little girl.

9 AM: I clean off the white tile floor of our patio with buckets of water and a squeegee. It gets dusty here quickly with all this sand! I open the window and let Mariam play in the living room as I do this. She usually stands in the window like a fastfood worker and throws blocks and things I left on the floor inside out at me. She gets mad she can't come out, but she will slip and fall with all the wet tiles.

10:30 AM: Mariam goes for a long nap. I think she takes this as her night time sleep still. I use this time to pick things up and clean or put together Ikea furniture. I am still getting used to all the quirks of the apartments here. The toilet flushes by pulling up a knob on the top of it. Saudi Arabian's don't seem to do the whole shower curtain thing, the middle of the bathroom floor has a drain instead. (this makes me dizzy when standing in the bathtub for some reason) The kitchen also has a drain in the floor, this makes it easy to clean as well. The water is delivered each day to the apartment building in big trucks because there is no city water line. They hook the truck up to the building and fill up water tanks. Water is included in our rent, but we buy drinking water. No one seems to conserve water here either, it feels strange, but we have never run out.

12 PM: I fall asleep. This is totally normal here. Stores and things are not even open at this time because most people are at home, sleeping away the hot part of the day.

3 PM: Mike gets home from teaching first grade. He falls asleep.

4 PM: I get up and look at the internet.

6 PM: Mariam and Mike wake up.

7 PM: I make dinner. Tonight I made pepper chicken with green peppers and onions and fava beans with tomatoes. We ate this with flat bread and my new favorite food Labnah We usually have lots of water and either guava or mango juice to drink too. Typically we eat out on the patio on a blanket. They eat on the floor here a lot, and even sell special plastic cloths to put down that you can just toss out when you are done eating. They throw out everything here, and everything comes in it's own plastic bag.

8:30 PM: We go out. Stores are all open till at least 11, and most till midnight. They have a store for everything it seems. The main roads are lined with an unbelievable amount of upscale malls, colored lights, fountains, and sculptures. In a way it reminds me of Las Vegas, without the naked ladies and gambling. My first night driving by all this I thought there were about 100 chandelier shops, and then I looked closer to realize that a lot the stores just have huge chandeliers all over. I only saw like two real chandelier stores. The side streets are filled with tiny shops and hole in the wall restaurants that all look tasty. We live right by a more traditional Souk. That is an open air mall with specialty shops and vendors on the sidewalks with a little area in the middle that has carnival rides and picnic tables.
Tonight we went to a very nice pet shop called Pet Oasis in a huge strip mall. I wanted to see if they sold monkeys. They do, three kinds. They also had something that looked like a meerkat, cats, dogs, fish, bunnies, lizards, snakes, and a huge selection of exotic birds. Mariam enjoyed it. After that we walked down the mall and peeked into a huge lounge/night club where you drink fake cocktails (no alcohol here) and smoke out of a hookah. We explored yet another grocery store, and got some milk for Mare. On the way home we stopped at a little restaurant and Mike bought us some fruity nutty dessert drink I forgot the name of. I should have taken a photo, it looked very decadent.

Mariam with the ferrets at Pet Oasis

11 PM: Mike reads books to Mariam and goes to bed.

12PM: Mare falls asleep. I do internet stuff and eventually fall asleep too.

getting here.

Mariam and I have now been in Jeddah for almost seven days. We are still working towards getting her to sleep at night. Having a spunky one year old on a nine hour time difference is more exhausting than having a newborn at home. But it still follows the same rules, she passes out, I pass out. So it is 3:32 AM here, and I am trying to keep her quiet and busy so Mike can go deal with a classroom of first graders in three hours. Mare and I will (not try to) sleep this afternoon.

The first day here we slept. We had just gotten off of 24 hours of travel. My dad drove us to the airport at 5 AM last Tuesday. Mariam and I got on a flight to JFK, and she slept the whole plane ride. Next we picked up our bags and headed into terminal 1 for a ten hour lay over. The check in counter for Saudi Airlines was not even set up yet. I guess this was the shortest layover we could have gotten though, unless we wanted to do more than one transfer. Mariam and I sat on benches, played on the floor, ate sandwiches, made very daring trips to the bathroom with all of our luggage. It went as well as it could.

I could check my bags and go through security four hours before the plane started boarding. Six hours went past and we checked in and headed through security. If you think airport security is all scary and terrible now you should stop watching TV and quit reading dumb internet articles. I had no body scan or pat down in my two times though. In fact I did not even see one body scan or pat down. Just your typical shoes off, stuff in the bin, go through the metal detector. Anyway. If you fly anytime soon, all that junk you hear about will most likely not happen to you at all. I think Scott Bibus had a body scan last time he flew, but wouldn't you be curious too?

We got to our gate and Mariam made quick friends with a girl from Germany named Annabelle and a Russian baby about her age named Ayesha. Mariam and Ayesha toddled around the gate and played together till the flight to Moscow left. We had some tuna and milk for dinner and Mariam fell asleep just as we started boarding our giant airplane to Saudi Arabia.

The plane was very nice. Each seat had it's own TV and they gave Mariam a little bassinet to sleep in. They also gave her a soft backpack that folded out into a blanket. It had a stuffed version of the airplane with big eyes instead of windshields, diapers, a nuk, a bottle, baby wipes, baby lotion, baby cream, baby soap, baby powder, two baby foods, baby apple juice, and a baby teething biscuit in it. They gave me two pillows, two blankets, socks, a sleep mask, a toothbrush and toothpaste, headphones, a refreshing towelette, two really good airplane meals, a snack, and at the very end a little green candy. I watched "Where the Wild Things Are" and "The Fantastic Mr. Fox" in between meals and compulsively checked the feature that told me the time left in transit and the exact place we were over. Mariam slept and I waited forever for the sun to start peeking though the windows. It finally came through, and I realized we still had hours to go. I am not good at sleeping on airplanes, even with pillows and fancy things.

We flew over Spain and Italy and Greece. We flew over The Nile. I got up and put my Abaya on in the bathroom and we finally got to Jeddah. Mariam and I got off the plane and on to a little bus that took us to the building. It was hot and the sun was setting already. The airport was pretty typical, besides the fact that all the women had on black Abayas and the men had on giant white shirtdress things. I filled out a little card for myself and Mare and we headed through customs and out sliding doors to a large crowd of people. Mike hopped the railing holding them back and hugged us. Mariam started to cry, I started to cry, a man brought our bags out, and we got into our car.

Mariam is looking sleepy now. I am going to take advantage of this calm and post more later. Goodnight!

::tontie::

Abaya Hunting

So, in order to walk around with out looking like a total weirdo, and to respect the people and culture of Saudi Arabia I need to wear an abaya when I am there. An abaya is a long black dress that you put on over clothes when you go out, like a coat (sort of). It is the national dress in Saudi, and most women there will also cover their heads with a scarf. You don't have to, but I plan on doing it just to avoid unwanted attention.

I am a sucker when it comes to costumes and historical fashion and dress-up, so when it came time to come to terms with the abaya it was not that difficult for me. Women from the region began dressing in this fashion about 4,000 years ago. Covering then was more about class than religion. Wearing a veil was a sign of luxury and privilege, given to the women who did not have to work. If you were doing anything difficult, why would you want to deal with the extra layers! Being a mom is a tough enough job, I don't really want more layers. But, I thought I should get my abaya early to test it out in the Minnesota summer heat, and see how it works around Mariam.

Mike took us to one of the Somali Malls in Minneapolis. It was a big warehouse type building with cars packing the parking lots and groups of intimidating looking Somali men chatting outside. We stepped in and it smelled like 300 different types of incense. There were stores lining every inch of space around the perimeter and the middle of the building. The halls were packed tight with racks of every color and texture fabric you could dream up. Each shop looked as if it were a heavily decorated shoebox diorama with a little person or two inside. Somali women and men sat in chairs surrounded by walls made up of skirts and scarves and CDs and shoes and foods and gifts, all foreign looking to me.

We quickly found a women's clothing area. Mike and I asked a very elderly looking woman for help with an abaya. She got a hook and took down one from the ceiling of her shop. Three other women huddled around me, helping me get the black dress over my head. The oldest taught me how to secure the scarf, wrapping it over and over, giving me little bits of direction in her language. Mike gave them cash and we left to go explore a bit more. I will give you Minneapolis Hipster girls a hint: If you are looking for a perfect unique skirt, or any color or texture of scarf, the Somali mall is the place to go. Things are super cheep and way cooler than Target, Urban Outfitters, American Apparel or thrift shops for that matter. And no one else in your circle would probably have the guts to go in a find a copycat. Really beautiful things.

We walked back out to the car. I had not taken off my new abaya so I could take it for a test drive. My first words were about five steps out the door, "hot. hot. hot. hot." Mike suggested that we walk slower thinking that our quick pace was too much for me. I explained that it was not my body making the heat, it was the sun baking into the matte black fabric.

Wearing an abaya is very similar to wearing your high school or college graduation gown. It is kinda neat, you feel sort of important, but as a girl you pull at the waist trying to define your cute shape a bit more. I know that defies the point. Anyway, it is about the same weight as I remember the black polyester grad gown being, but a bit longer.

I had no problems getting Mariam in her car seat and did not trip or get my sleeve caught in the car door. Besides being warm, it was no trouble at all wearing an abaya, so far. Next stop was Target to pick up some things. I felt like a cross cultural mess as I got out of the car and my insecurities kicked in. A German/Norwegian girl in Moccasins and a black Abaya. What if my scarf flew off! Then I realized the worst part of the Abaya. NO POCKETS. I am a pocket user, especially in the summer when I don't want a heavy hot purse on my shoulder. My phone was under my abaya in my left pocket and my cash was in my right pocket. I had to hike up the black to get to my little jean skirt underneath. That felt really revealing and scandalous even though I have no problem going out in just a little skirt. I want an abaya with pockets. Target went fine, no one cared. People won't even think twice of me in Saudi, unless I go without my abaya.

Things & Kitties For Sale & Give Away!

Need some new furniture? Need a furry friend? I am your lady. Our place be cleaned out and packed up by August 31. Let me know!

One year old couch with removable and washable slipcover in beige. $200

Dining room table with four chairs. $65

End table $10

Red chair (I have two) $40 each

Bookshelf (two of those too) $10 each

Various house plants. FREE

Noonie: 9 year old female cat. Black, front declawed, cuddly, loved by everyone. FREE

Charlie: 8 year old male cat. Black and white, front declawed, best companion ever. FREE

These kitties are the best cats ever. It kills me to think about putting them in the shelter, or posting them on craigslist. Please take one home!

Going East

After months of discussions, research, questions, daydreams, concerns, and excitement we have made a huge decision. Michael Abraham and I are packing up Mariam and moving to (almost) the other side of the world. We will be living in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia for the next three years.

I am well aware of the cultural differences and the impressions that most Americans hold of this far away land. However, the benefits of our move outweigh the nervousness we have and the sacrifices we will be making. Overall, I think we made the best decision. I am curious and looking forward to the next adventure life holds for me and my little family.

Mike has accepted a job at a Boy's School in the port city of Jeddah. He will be teaching Math, Science, History and English all in English to an Elementary school class. The school is very well off with Smartboads in each room, laptops for everyone, and some amazing looking sports facilities. His very good friend Chris has been working at this school for a year and a half and is now part of the administration. He suggested Mike apply for the job, and has put together a pretty great pay and benefits package to attract Americans as teachers.

Chris (who is from Wisconsin) has lived in Jeddah for almost two years with his wife and 2 year old daughter. They have had a positive experience living there, and have worked out a lot of the initial kinks of adjusting to the city and culture. We are very fortunate to have their help and company!

With the money we will be making we can pay off all of our college loans and medical bills. We will be able to live comfortably, and can afford a three bedroom two bath villa in Jeddah. We should also be able to save a bit! Top of the line Healthcare is included and completely paid for. We have talked to Mariam's doctors here and they say Saudi Arabia's medical system is on par with Britain and France and we have nothing much to worry about. One also asked us to send him photos of Mariam with some Camels! We have also already found a Pediatrician from New York who practices in Jeddah. With Michael working as a teacher we will have June through August each year to travel and visit you guys at home. The benefits package also includes some money for trips back.

Mike will be leaving September 6th and Mariam and I will be following sometime in late October or early November. That way he can scope it out, set up house, and our visas can come through.

Over the next few weeks I will be posting information about Jeddah, and answers to questions I had and anything you guys might have too. I encourage comments and questions from you! I am planning a post on my views of feminism and living in Saudi, and an entry giving you an overview of what I am told life in Jeddah is like. Those should come in the next couple of days. I plan to keep this a very regular blog for my entire stay in the Kingdom.

We are looking forward to the time we have left with everyone here, and sharing our experiences once we move. Again, your questions and comments are encouraged!

::tontie::

p.s.

To all you Negative Nancys: I am not a secret Muslim, and I have not been brainwashed. I am me, please respect that.