After the wedding reception ended at about 10:30, we headed back to the family farm. Feeling that I had enough cultural immersion for the day, I politely declined another round of tea and headed for bed - or rather the floor since no cots were in sight. I was directed to one of the three attached rooms outside of which was a row of modern sinks where the boys had put their toiletries. I envisioned four or five of us sprawled on the floor or squeezed on to the carpeted benches at the perimeter, neither option looking very attractive. A greater concern loomed as I started to notice the decline in temperature since the earlier evening. The room had become quite chilly, no obvious heating unit, no blankets in sight and my jogging suit serving as PJs. I was deciding how great offense it might be to inquire about a blanket when my colleague Shakir entered with a full sized blow-up mattress from KMart and a soft blanket. I thanked Shakir profusely and gave a silent prayer of thanks for my delivery from the floor. Also, though the boys trooped in to brush their teeth and change into sleepwear, I had the quarters to myself. All should have been good except that - at least by Saudi standards - it became quite cold, the first time I could apply that term in SA. The combination of unfamiliar surroundings, the temperature and a not quite adequate blanket made for a twisting, turning frigid half-sleep, interrupted periodically by chickens seranading outside the tent. Finally at about the first light I was able to doze off planning to sleep in for at least several hours.
However, soon thereafter I was being shaken awake by K. who was clearly inviting me for breakfast in Arabic and hand signs. Under the circumstances I had little choice but to make ready for the morning, thinking that eggs and toast with tea might be a welcome remedy for a sleepless night and the morning chill. We sat on the floor in the third room which was heated and the morning sun made it quite pleasant. The entrees were in large covered tureens set on the floor on plastic mats along with plates of jam, yoghurt, Arabic breads, black olives and canned tuna. When K removed the serving dish covers, my hopes for eggs (in any form) were deflated. One dish contain a thin broth or porrage with a potent aroma that I managed to avoid - yes, I'm a wimp, gastronomically speaking, especialy early in the day. The other offering was a camel stew which I did try and would have enjoyed later in the day. So I focused on mint tea, bread, jam and yoghurt which were all quite good, actually. Shakir had offered me both silverware and a chair but wanting to be one of the guys, declined both. As you likely know the traditional dining is done using bread as the spoon/fork and dipping into the common bowl, always sitting on the floor cross-legged.
The conversation was exclusively in Arabic and became quite animated after a guest arrived, a bearded middle-aged guy who I was informed was the local Imam. While understanding not a word of the heated conversation, it occured to me that they might be debating the appropriateness of breakfasting with an infidel in their midst - but given that courtesy to their guests is embedded in the Saudi DNA, I knew this wasn't likely. On the return trip home later that day, I learned the scoop: local politics. The imam had witten a letter to the local paper criticizing the chief of police for lax enforcement of some ordinance and the chief went to the local authority, the mayor or equivalent, to complain about this challenge to his reputation. The imam was expected to present a balanced view of the dispute in the mosque...Sounds much like Lawrenceville ward politics to me...
After breakfast I was encouraged to take a tour of the farm. Apparently, K ran the farm as a sideline to his own business interests. They raised lettuce and other vegetables primarily for home consumption, kept chickens and a herd of goats. The goats were a prized commodity being a breed with a long coat and a flat, narrow face, almost comical in appearance. In response to my question, Shakir told me that they weren't raised for their milk which is a popular commodity in the Kingdom but more for the pleasures of animal husbandry, including tending to the sick among the flock. I then complete a walk through the grounds accompanied by one of the younngsters who knew few words of English but we made the effort. The rows of plants and vegetables were lined with irrigation hoses and palm trees with an occasional pine tree with long soft needles. I could identify gourds and trees with a greenish-yellow fruit that reminded me of quince but otherwise the crop had already been picked. Although the acreage was extensive it had the appearance of a very large and sprawling garden, reminiscent of my grandfather's mini-farm, Wesley Sr, in Johnstown PA decades ago, a music teacher who was also a gentleman farmer.
Well, the little tour raised my spirits and warmed my bones - and by mid-morning we left the farm for the camel festival...
To be continued.
Fun to see Mrs. Rohrer after she made it back stateside and washed all that sand out of her hair. She says you're looking good over there!
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