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.