The Prince is in the building

This week I have come as close to royalty as I'll ever get, specifically about several feet removed from Prince Mutab, son of King Abdullah and head of the Saudi National Guard. The occasion was the formal inauguration of the King Abdullah Arabic Medical Encyclopedia, an interactive on-line consumer-focused health education tool. As this is the only such resource in the world presented in Arabic, the project under the leadership of our Dean, Dr. Al-Tuwaijri is a very big deal and being housed in our College of Public Health and Health Informatics brings prestige to the College and phot-ops with the Prince.

The preliminaries are carefully choreographed following a  pattern that is a blending of of High Church ritual (censors of incense are carried by secular acolytes) and a political rally, cameras rolling. Huge ceramic vases of potted plants appeared at the main doorway and a red carpet (literally) was laid across the front steps and into the foyer. Red-capped National Guard soldiers formed a phalanx at the entry way and official photographers had cameras at the ready. My colleague, Dr. Mowafa invited me to wait with him and a few others to form an ad hoc receiving line in the foyer but as I expected we were politely asked to move along by the head security guy. But fortune smiled as we crossed paths with Dean Majid who invited us into the conference room in the row just behind the University and military dignitaries. After all the guests were seated tea boys in red and gold damask coats brought in tea, fruit juices, the ubiquitous bottled water and trays of fresh dates. Though I'm not a tea drinker the lemon tea that is often served at special functions is quite distinctive, spicy and sweet.

Within about ten minutes the Prince entered with his entourage wearing a dark thobe and white ghutra. His excellency is likely in his mid-50s, seems vigorous and has a command. presence, befitting his military career and title. Unfortunately for me, he gave his remarks in Arabic but my colleague, Dre. Mowafa, did real time translation. He praised the Dean and staff for this excellent contribution to the health and well-being of the people of Saudi Arabia and how it reflects the contibutions of Arabic scientists and scholars to the world, etc.  His most interesting remark however followed his question to the research team's spokesman about whether the encyclopedia contained "prophetic" (traditional/Qu'ran-based) medicine. The gist of the response was that "yes, since our people are interested in this but we must be careful to balance this interest with the best evidence underlying medical practice and public health..." The Prince nodded in acknowledgement but then expressed his faith in traditional medicine by recounting an elaborate story about the use of henna to relieve a scalp problem which had the not inconsequential benefit of adding a darker tone to his graying hair. He recounted this assertively - I had the impression that he didn't lose many arguments - but also with a humorous touch. His own criticism of the Web presentation is that the National Guard wasn't acknowledged. When the NGHA logo was pointed out to him he responded - and I didn't need a translator here - that he wanted it much bigger.

This was followed by his presentation of plaques of achievement to each of the faculty and staff involved, men and women and photos with the Prince. Following a final round by the tea boys, the Prince announced  that he had an additional tribute for each of the staff, a two-months bonus which was distributed on the spot. With that the Prince and entourage left the room shaking hands as he went. Being in the cheap seats, I wasn't able to press the flesh but felt the glow of the royal presence... This was yet another experience in which I recognized the hybrid of the familiar with the alien aspects of Saudi culture. The most unusual aspect of the ceremony was that the women staff were seated with the men and recognized together. That this is so unusual is the "take home" lesson!

Another glimpse into the soul of Saudi culture...

A bit of fevered verse: In honor of the Pittsburgh Marathon

Saudi spring

Heat encapsulates

Enervates of course

Shrink wraps as a

Second skin, stir

Frying any stray

Initiative

Incendiary as

Scorching the soul

To brittle crisp

Smothering thought

Beyond "how hot?"

Few steps fatiguing

As a marathon

Melt-down and

could go on-and-on

But stop to ask:

Hot enough for you?

For Caitlin, her SPC team and all the Burghers running the Marathon, run the good race and HYDRATE!

While some like it hot...

The past week and weeks ahead will test this proposition. The five day forecast runs like this:
102 F, 107F, 103F, 105F, 104 F - and this is just the beginning of the summer. I'm told by expat long-timers that this has been an especially wet and cool "spring" (only 80s and 90s in April) and a delayed summer. I do prefer the heat to cold weather in general and the low humidity does make it more bearable. Yet it still takes some adjustment stepping out from the A/C comfort of the villa or office into the blazing sun, an experience like running into a wall of particulate-infused heat. You do adjust to it by moving more slowly and hydrating regularly is a requirement. What has suprised me is how much of a toll it takes on my energy reserves. I have decided to retire from running at least for the summer both because of the risk of heat stroke and the wear on my joints of the mercilessly hard road surface - no grass beyond a few decorative patches. That the compound has both indoor and outdoor swimming pools and a fitness center is a blessing. At this point I cannot imagine the experience of 120-125 F but I will learn to cope with it soon enough!

PostScript - Camel Festival

You may recall that I spent a weekend at the ancestral farm of a Saudi colleague, attended a wedding reception, etc. The final day of the weekend preparing to return to Riyadh, I was informed that my host wanted to attend the final day of a week-long camel festival in a stadium (as I don't know the Arabic term) along the highway heading south to Riyadh. Although tired and stiff having not slept the previous night, I had no specific plans and having never witnessed any event featuring camels - other than a few when the circus came to the Civic Arena - I was open to a new experience, fortified by a strong cup of Turkish coffee from the Arabic equivalent of a drive-through Starbucks.

After miles driving through the desert on both sides of the road with little traffic and few signs of human habitation, we came to a large portal with a banner in Arabic, announcing (I'm paraphrasing now): "Come one come all! The Kingdom's XXst Annual Camel Festival is the place to be. One entrance fee per automobile and parking is free. Refreshments for the kids." We followed my colleague's eldest brother's SUV across the "parking lot" which was in fact gravel and hard sand receding into soft sand. We headed toward the stadium where the camel competition was being held. Arabic chants (an endless pre-recorded loop at high decibels) provided the background music, not music to my ears but neither Simon & Garfunkel, the Eagles, U2 nor (can you believe it!) Joe Grushecky and the House Rockers were on the play list. However, the shouts, whoops and chants of hundreds of fans driving their (always) white open-bed Toyota and Nissan pick-ups in loops arounf the stadium entrance provided the predominant motif.

We never entered the stadium as that privilege was reserved for competing camels, their owners and entourage. Instead we parked the car and stood with the milling crowd along a pulsating reception line waiting for the herds of camels to take their victory laps around the stadium.  By chance we were positioned favorably on the edge of the camel run which I didn't realize until the first herd galloped past. The largest of the camels were huge, measuring  - at least it seemed to me then as they passed within a few feet of me - nine or ten feet from hoof to top of the hump. Although a camel jockey followed alongside the herd they seemed to be self-directed, running together following an unmarked course in loose squadron formation. The winning beasts displayed ribbons but I saw no trophies or plaques which were likely in the possession of the proud owners. I was told that a prize winning camel would be on the market for at least a few million $US so they led lives of camel luxury. No work, no racing, lots of fresh hay, photo ops and presumably some family time. They are magnificent animals especially in motion.

While the camels were parading, they were pursued by the ever-present white pick-ups filled with young guys (no women were evident, either because this was haram or perhaps this is just a guy-thing) brandishing swords and canes swaying to the chants blaring over the loud speakers. This aspect was a bit frightening - not in terms of personal security - but as a primal display of raw exuberance and unleashed frenetic energy.  After the last herd of camels had passed the scene, A group of young guys approached me to ask if I was English. "No, I'm from the States. "Ameriki?" - asked one who beamed when I affirmed "born in the USA". He had spent a month in a study trip to the mid-West and apparantly this was a source of real pride. In any case, I soon became a subject of interest as the guys wanted to have a photo op beside the Ameriki, even if I didn't fit their preconception. I was told later that the stereotypical American was a tall muscular guy in a leisure suit - John Travolta in his disco days? An how they seemed pleased to have their own and my 30 seconds of fame!

After the festivities wound down we got into my host's SUV and after 5 minutes of forward and reverse maneuvers, it was all too clear that we were hopelessly stuck in the sand. My heart sank as I had little interest in spending the whole day - and certainly not all night - waiting for a tow truck from the nearest city. Suddenly a stranger came over to us, surveyed the scene, offered to get behind the wheel and within two minutes we were free and on firmer ground. An unnamed hero was added to my short list!

Holiday Greetings

To all my friends, people of the Book -

Happy Easter and Passover to you all during this holy season in which we are called to remember God's covenant, his mercy and compassion and the many blessings we receive abundantly:

"I am the Lord your God,
who brought you from the land of Egypt.
Open wide your mouth and I will fill it...
Israel I would feed with finest wheat
and fill them with honey from the rock."

"He was despised and rejected by men;
a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief
as one from whom men hide their faces...
But he was wounded for our transgressions;
he was crushed for our inquities."

"And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God,
prepared as a bride adorned for her husband...
And He who was seated on the throne said, "Behold I am making all things new."

Peace go with you/Shalom/As-salam alaykum

Dutch treat

As you have likely concluded the opportunities for expat social and recreational activities outside the compound are rare and usually involve one of the embassies in the DQ (Diplomatic Quarter, not the soft ice cream though there is actually one of those in Riyadh). A good friend Edith who arranged the desert trip for us during Janet's visit is a Dutch national. She invited me and my Irish buddy Rob - a writer, film-maker and student of early Irish history and culture - as her guests to the Dutch Embassy Spring Fling (or words to that effect...). Not knowing what to expect I decided to go, enjoy the company of my friends (as Rob is a world-class conversationalist, creative and more than a little outrageous) and leave as early as decorum allowed.  

After passing through embassy security which was lax compared to the British and NZ Embassies, we entered an outdoor patio centered on a swimming pool area ringed by soft lights. To my mild surprise there was a bar with a narrow offering of beverages that one might enjoy at Walnut Grove, Peter's Pub or Church Brew Works. My friends opted for a malt beverage while I stayed loyal to white wine - not an especially good one but hey it was the real thing! Filipino guys in uniform circulated among the linen covered cafe tables lining the pool offering hors-d'oeuvres. I accepted a small strip of what looked like bacon - though that was unlikely to impossible - and found it to be chilled and salty, perhaps herring. To my distress I later learned that I had digested eel but survived the experience without adverse effects...

The guests were young middle-aged to older dressed in business casual. Except for the Dutch language I might have been at a Happy Hour reception at the Fox Chapel Field Club - well, actually I've never been to any event at the Field Club so this is just a wild guess!   Although Edith assured us that most educated Dutch people speak English we generally conversed among ourselves, trying to determine whether the Dutch Ambassador might appear and if so how we would be able to identify him or her...After two small glasses of fermented grape and great conversation, I was ready for a meal which was served buffet style - an interesting hybrid of Dutch-Arabic including little sausages and fish with veal and chicken kabobs. We had just finished our meal when a few couples headed for a section clearly designated as the dance floor. I had no intention of humiliating myself in this regard but Edith and Rob were insistent so I gave it my best Saturday Night Fever imitation. After three vigorous pop-rock sets, I had exhausted my repertoire of dance floor moves and retreated to my table, finished my glass and then called for my driver...

It was an enjoyable evening with good friends in lovely setting, an experience that was distinctive because of its normality. Adult men and women together conversing freely, behaving well and enjoying one other's company, good food and beverage and real music in a relaxed, low stress environment. That such an experience is so rare in this environment is notable...

A Perfect (Sand)Storm

Last Sunday began as usual in Riyadh with a warm, sunny morning but predictions for high winds later in the afternoon. By noon the sky had become overcast and off to the northeast, there appeared to be a distant blanket of mist or sheets of rain either of which would be rare if not extraordinary. By mid-afternoon one of our administrative secretaries told me she had just received a weather alert that a major sandstorm was heading for Riyadh from the north, i.e., Kuwait, and that employees were encouraged to leave early. Had this been a prediction oif a major snow storm heading from Cleveland to the 'Burgh, I would likely have continued business as usual, taking note of the traffic flows on 5th Avenue. But in this situation I really didn't know what to expect and the secretary had a note of genuine concern in her voice. Since I'm at the mercy of the shuttle bus to get to and from my compound, I decided to abandon ship for the next (4:15 pm) shuttle.

When I left our building for the 5 minute walk across a dusty construction site (the footprint for an on-campus overhead tram being built) the wind had become gusty and gritty and the sky menacing. By the time I reached the bus stop trash was flying about and women clutching their head scarves, lab coats and abayas. The Yamama III bus arrived on time and several of us boarded quickly relieved to be sheltered from the wind and dust. Just as the bus was about to leave the station, a curtain of total (but reddish) darkness fell as if some one had thrown the "lights off" switch. Although the driver had his high beams on it was not clear that he had more than a few feet of vision. As we slowly wound our way through the campus service roads to the main highway, many limos and personal vehicles pulled over to the side. Our driver forged ahead and merged into a light stream of traffic on the highway in what was essentially pitch dark conditions. Having become somewhat acclimated to the terrors of normal driving in Riyadh, I realized yet again that I had no contol over this situation and so peered out the window looking for signs of break in the storm or perhaps apocalyptic visions suggesting this we might indeed be approaching Judgment Day.

Well, by the time we reached the compound the light had been restored to early evening level, the sky was a chalky gray, a muddy rain hit the windshield and apparently the Endtimes had at least been postponed. So now I have passed yet another expat test: weathering the Saudi version of a blizzard. In fact, I have subsequently learned that the intensity and suddeness of this storm was a once in a decade occurence - and that most sandstorms hitting Riyadh are milder but dirtier and more long lasting. In this case my porch was covered with mounds and rivulets of muddy red and the floor mat strewn with seed pods. The good news is that this means job security for the Filipno guys who contract with the residents to clean the villa facades, porches and windows - a silver lining in every sandstorm cloud!