Fear and Loathing in "North Yemen"

A few days ago while on my daily walk down to the central facility of the compound I was hit by a tornado.  Obviously, I survived and the only causalities from this event would be my disposable eye-contacts which were completely brown when I removed them from my blood-shot eyes.  I would spend the next few days bragging to people dramatically about my near-death experience, only to be humbled when told that it was not actually a tornado that hit me, but a dust devil.   Dust devils are very common here in Saudi Arabia (the Saudi's actually call them djinn which means genie) and basically it is just a whirlwind that picks up some dust and sand.  Some can be 1000 meters tall and 100 meters wide, but the one that hit me was a runt of a dust-devil at maybe 1/2 meter wide and 3 meters tall.

Living here in Saudi, this dust devil has been the most profound part of nature I have encountered. When I do go off the compound, the landscape here in the south west of Saudi Arabia does not offer much in regards to aesthetics.  Bottles, cans, fast food bags, rubber, plastic and hazardous materials lie together without discrimination along the roads, in the vacant lots, and among the small hills.  When one does see a tree, the bare limbs adorn artificial blooms--the blue plastic bags that have become, in ex-pat mockery, the national flower of Saudi Arabia.

Staring out the window with my vision obstructed by my forever falling-off Hijab,  I try to find beauty in the litter and dust and attach meaning to what is an artless place.  I find solace in seeing the men in thobes standing in the divider of the road pointed towards Mecca at prayer time and the families picnicking on the driveway to the airport because it is most beautiful place in the city.  Despite that I do not share the religion, I enjoy the melodic chants of the prayer calls that echo throughout the city and compound 7 times daily.  However, this view through the car window and hearing the call to prayer through the cement walls and barbed-wire that separate the compound from the city, is as close as I am ever going to get to cultural understanding here and because of my place as a woman and my inability to speak Arabic, that will sadly probably never change here for me in Khamis Mushait.

Luckily for me, the compound itself has become a cultural (dare I say) mecca for me.  On an average weekend, I will find myself surrounded by people (mostly men) from all over the world sitting around a large table talking into the wee hours of the morning. People, who would probably never choose to spend time with each other in the free world, walk arm and arm despite their political, religious, and cultural differences.  Even among my own people from the states, I find that many of the relationships here would never have developed unless put into this exact living-situation.   The common goal of the people here to withstand the hardships (being separated from their families, the extreme cultural and legal differences, the nearby bombings and war; not having taco bell) in order to achieve some sort of expatriate dream of financial freedom has created a unique bond between everyone here, and I absolutely love it.

An average weekend evening will involve a mix of Americans, South Africans, Filipinos, French, English, Irish, Scottish, Germans, Ethiopians, Koreans, Thai and Malaysians intermingling. There are some spouses who live on the compound like myself and during the weekend, female medical workers and nurses from nearby compounds are checked onto the compound as guests to partake in the social activities.  For the most part, the different groups of nationalities start the evening out separately and as the evening goes on, the divisions between countries are divided, new friendships are formed and by dawn you will find yourself speaking bits of french in an Irish accent and promising to visit your new friend's homeland. A few weeks ago, a couple of men brought guitars out and five nationalities of people stayed together singing off-key and merrily until dawn. Pot-lucks, BBQs, and family-style dinners are a typical thing here and inclusiveness is stressed over prestige. I have only been here two and a half months and I have learned more about the world, than in all my years of education and even working abroad for the U.S Military.  Living in an expatriate community allows you to see the world and history from different points of view and you are constantly learning something or trying to unlearn something from your own upbringing.

No matter how diligently I try, I will not be able to find pulchritude in plastic bags floating in the dusty-air. I have yet to travel beyond this city and I know that there is beauty in this country that I aspire to see before I leave, inshallah.  But, for now, I will enjoy the myriad of cultures that are at my finger-tips on this compound, the silliness in the dark that ensues the little compound freedoms shared by all, and the friendships I have made with all of these wander-lusting weirdos that I hope will last a life-time.

  

Being a Chubby Bunny

Ok let's face it, I am not a small girl.  And of my 35 years on this planet, I think I was only thin for around 7 of  them.  These years being when I was a fetus until I was able to eat solid food and then in high school when a combination of teen-age self loathing, metabolism, playing volleyball year round and only consuming skittles and diet coke made it so I was still allowed to enter an Abercrombie and Fitch without being fat-shamed.

I am not going to blame my entire body shape on genetics and slow metabolism and take no personal accountability.  In all reality, I love certain things that have a lot of calories in them-- taco bell and alcohol being among the top two.  I also have been known to eat an entire bag (the family size bag ) of Peanut M&Ms while having a good cry to a Nicholas Sparks movie. But in general, I am not a big eater and I exercise pretty regularly.  Some people are just bigger by nature and with the pressure society puts on girls to be skinny in order to have self worth, it sucks.

The first time I realized I was a fatty was when I was around 11 years old.  Most kids go through an awkward stage in those years leading up to puberty-- their voices crack, their hair and face is greasy and they get giant zits on the middle of their foreheads. Then,  whoosh, magically they go through a metamorphosis where they turn into hot young teens. In my prepubescent awkward stage I looked like a troll that lived under a bridge--a troll with a camel toe and crooked bangs that I had cut myself. I had older sisters who were, and always will be, skinny, who always had boyfriends, and, to top it off, they were cheerleaders.  Four years younger than them and I was already as tall and about two sizes bigger than them, but that did not stop me from trying to make my own dream of being a cheerleader possible.   One fateful afternoon, my sisters and mom went to the store and left me at home alone, and I attempted to make this dream of being a cheerleader a reality.  I grabbed Tiffini's white, blue, and gold cheer-leading uniform and tried to put it on.  It was so tight I could barely get it passed my arms.  I laid on the bed and wiggled, and sweated, and finally I got my my jawbreaker shaped body into it.  I remember looking at the mirror and thinking how unbelievable beautiful I was in that uniform.  I did a few clumsy fat kid jumps and cheer moves and I could hear the seams tearing.  I knew my sisters and mom would be home soon, and I would face the terror of Tiffini if she caught me in her uniform, so I proceeded to try to take it off.  However, that thing was not budging at all.  I tried and tried different positions, but I was stuck.  Panicked, I did the only thing my 11 year old critical thinking skills could manage, I took my mother's sewing scissors and cut it right down the front to get myself out of it.  Once I was free from the uniform and able to breathe again, I realized that my life was going to be over when my sister returned home and saw what I had done.  My only solution was to cover the uniform in BBQ sauce and then try to make the dog chew on it.  Golden Retrievers are not the best dogs for dirty deeds, and it took a lot of convincing to finally get that dog to put the destroyed, sauce covered uniform in his mouth.  Then we played tug of war until it was torn into multiple pieces and I rinsed it off and put it in a corner in the dog's yard. To this day, I can still hear Tiffini's screams when she found that uniform a few days later in the yard.  I got away with it, Tiffini would hold a grudge against that sweet innocent dog for the rest of his life, and I would not confess my crime until 13 years later.

American society puts a lot of pressure on girls to be thin.  It is ingrained in us from the time we are given our first barbie, when we pick up that first copy of seventeen magazine, and we laugh along with fat girl jokes with people at parties all time cringing because we are those fat girls . For three decades,  I thought less of myself and believed I didn't deserve the same happiness as other girls because I wasn't skinny.  If you look at my dating history, until I met Paul, I dated some extremely disturbed individuals.  There is some cheesy saying that goes something like, "you get the love you think you deserve".  This saying is 100% accurate in my case.  It wasn't until I finally had the courage to accept myself for who I am and realized I deserved better that I met someone who treated me like the gorgeous, brilliant and sassy goddess that I am.  But what is disappointing is that it took 31 years to love myself.  I have so many sexy and amazing friends who have learned to think less of themselves because they are overweight.  I think about all of the diets we big boned girls have been on, all of the times we have starved ourselves and did self destructive acts because we didn't like the way we looked, and all of the times we allowed ourselves to feel pity and self-loathing because we was ashamed of our weight and it makes me angry at us girls for allowing ourselves to believe we are less because we weigh more.

I am not going to lie and say that I still don't get my feelings hurt when people make comments to me about my weight or make jokes about fat girls.  When people say douchey things, it always hurts. But, I am learning to accept that people in general are kind of ass-hats. America may put pressure on women to be thin, but the rest of world is just cruel about it.  I have been in stores in Korea, where the shopkeepers come up to me, block me from going into the store, and tell me I can't come in because there is nothing for me.  In Okinawa, I was told I was nearly too fat to go zip-lining and had to go behind a special fat-person screen to try on the harness to ensure I wouldn't take down the whole park with my King Kong thighs.  In the Philippines, I was told I would never get a husband unless I was thinner and I was taken to this place where they put a belt on me that gave me painful electric shocks in order to rid me of my ab fat.  Two weeks ago in Kathmandu, I was almost denied access to a club because I was a "big girl".  Imagine that-- a city that's economy was devastated from an earthquake four months ago, didn't want my fatty boom boom money.  If you are a bigger woman, you will know that you are constantly hearing remarks about weight, being insulted, and being given tips on how to lose weight and because being overweight is such a social disgrace, you are expected to just smile and take it because you are fat and lazy and should be ashamed of yourself.

What really irritates me is that the same standards are not nearly imposed upon men. For the most part, when these jokes are made, when myself and my fellow love handle holders are being insulted, or when the importance of being thin is being expressed by men, they are saying it over their jiggling beer bellies.  Women have come so far in regards to rights, education, and the ability to be a leader in the workplace and society, but when it comes down to it, women are always first judged on their appearance before their intellect.  

I am not writing this to get compliments or for anyone to feel sorry for me or my fellow female fatties. I love the way I look and I think I am fucking awesome. I should exercise more and eat less and I do believe being healthy is important and there are definite improvements I need to make.  I am in no way saying we as women should through all caution to the wind and eat nothing but bacon and ice-cream.   But, I do think it is time for we as women to love ourselves as we are and to stop letting society and these misogynistic expectations control the way we think about ourselves.

I am always going to be just a little bit chubby, a little bit out-spoken, and if you let me go through your closet I will probably try to squeeze myself into something too small and ruin your favorite dress--but that is me and I dig it.

Weird Things About Living in Khamis Mushait, Saudi Arabia (on a Compound)

Weird Things About Living in Khamis Mushait, Saudi Arabia  (on a Compound):

1. The compound workers spray for bugs with what I think is either Kerosene or Diesel Fuel. At night after they spray, I lay on the asphalt on my back with the cockroaches and twitch a bit gasping for air certain I will die. A few minutes later, both the cockroaches and I shake it off and walk away fine.

2. If certain things come into the small commissary, there is nearly a westerner jihad to get them before they are gone. Tortilla chips and tortillas were all the rage two weeks ago. I would shank someone for some Ben and Jerry's Half Baked Frozen Yogurt.

3. The produce and meat selection here is small and not very good. Therefor my diet consists of mainly chicken, carbs, and fried thingies. However, due to the high altitude, my only form of transportation being my feet and being in a self contained sauna when I leave the compound in head to toe covering, pounds just fall off here. I am considering writing a book on weight loss called "The kerosene, home-elixir, deep fried, and abaya diet".

4. Saudi's theory of relativity, and science in general, differ from the west. Time and space work differently here. I have been here only 8 weeks and already I have made and lost friends, switch social groups three times, cried over people moving away or going on vacation, started and quit four different exercise regimes, and traveled 18 hours in order to eat pork and see lush green, nature. Also, we have never been to the Saudi moon.

5. There is an endless supply of boogers here because everything is covered in dust and dust storms are a thing here. Living here is every 6th grade bully's dream. You will never ever run out of giant boogers to wipe on your victims. I find or see boogers in strange places and often quietly ponder how these boogers came to find themselves on the treadmill start button at the gym, on the secret door to PS1, or on my dining room table during taco night.

6. There are cats EVERYWHERE here. When I first got here, there was already a cat living inside the apartment I moved into. We have two stray cats who live outside our villa and then there are probably another 100 cats on the compound. Everyone feeds these cats and gives them different names. I really want to build a cat city behind one of the empty villas where all of the cats can live together in cat houses that are replicas of miniature buildings---a kitty taj mahal, a kitty white house house, a kitty mosque. It would be glorious.

7. People are referred to here by physical description, place of origin, or place of work. So far I have met a Tall Paul, Small Paul, French Frank, Irish Dave, English Dave, Army Chris, Red, Santa Claus, and The Scouser. My Paul is neither the small or the tall Paul, so I have no idea when anyone is talking about him. My name here to most is Erin, and I just go with it as Erin has become my alternate identity here.

I think living here in Saudi on a compound, everyone becomes a version of themselves anyway-- a stereotype, an extreme version of a behavior or attitude they commonly portray, or a version of themselves they would just like to try on for size. Some people have been here for years and years, but for the most part it seems that people come and go and that the life here is a transitional period to a greater goal and so identity, like life here, is temporal and malleable.