Omee (That's My Arabic for My Mom)

My mom visited me for a couple weeks about a month ago. I absolutely loved it and, much to her surprise, so did she. I wanted to write a sappy blog about how much I love my mom, how special she is to me, how sweet it was for her to come out to a part of the world that scares her, how her visit helped get my mind out of this pseudo-reality, and how her visit here reminded me to remember who I really am. That's tender and all, but I've already written a blog or two along those lines. Now I think I'll try something different.

Whenever my mom visits me, she always hides cute little thank you notes right before she leaves. Her handwriting ranks among the most meticulous of school teachers, and she always signs off with a smiling sun. Finding sweet notes days after she's gone somehow softens the blow of her not being here anymore. When I discover a new note, I feel like she snuck up and surprised me with an unexpected hug. Today I found the 34th note underneath my home phone, and she left nearly a month ago. It said, "I love you, Mel." I never get a chance to tell her my response: "I love you, too, Mom." Well, this blog is my response to some of those cute notes.

Note 1: Thanks for the fun memories in Lebanon and Riyadh. I had a great time, Mom. Thanks for coming! I smile every time I think about our time together and the memories we made.

Note 2: Remember asking 4 people for directions to the grocery store in Beirut. I know it was around the clock tower, somewhere. Too bad we never found it. Everyone was so eager to help, but too bad none of the directions were decent!

Note 3: Remember sheesha beside the sea and at the town center. It was a blast, huh? I just bought myself a sheesha pipe last week, but I doubt I'll ever have three handsome young guys smoke it with me here in Saudi Arabia!

Note 4: Remember AUB-- its beautiful walkways, buildings, and MUSEUM. I know! Wasn't it beautiful? That museum was pretty awesome, too.

Note 5: Remember your first day driving--to Sidia and Tyre. Yeah, driving here is pretty intense, huh?

Note 6: Remember the crazy shaker ride at the carnival in Beirut. I liked watching you watch it. That ferris wheel was pretty neat, looking over the water.

Note 7: Remember the Russian Ballet dancing Anna Karinina in front of the dramatically lit Temple of Venus/Bacchus. I'll never forget it! It was on my top ten memories in my entire life!

Note 8: Remember the fortress at Sidon--and the local who helped you park. Parking is as crazy as driving! That dude standing in the middle of the road to block traffic was pretty cool. The fortress...wow! I kept thinking about all the stories those walls could tell!

Note 9: Remember sweet Cheryl's welcome home. Wasn't she cool? I got pretty lucky having her as a roommate!

Note 10: Remember lunch at Rasha's home. Surprising how much tuna fish you can eat when you don't know about the other food, huh? She was so nice to put together a meal for us. They didn't have much, but they offered us their best.

Note 11: Remember your beautiful birthday dress and the sewing job. I loved it! I'm so glad they didn't have the dress in Jen's size! It fit me perfectly! Those straps were fun to make with you. You're such a good seamstress, even without a sewing machine. Thanks for your help, Mom.

Note 12: I love you, Mellie. I love you, too, Mama. I love you soooo much.

Mafi Boosa Lak Enta (That's my Arabic for No Kiss for You, Man)

Seems like no woman can leave Riyadh without a funny story involving a lonely man. Mine goes like this:

I checked onto a flight going to Cairo a couple weeks ago. The 20 year old guy checking me in was a total sweetheart and offered me a voucher to the VIP room. Of course I took him up on the offer, then thanked him when he came to visit me there a little later. We had a nice ten minute conversation, he offered to help me with anything I needed in the future, and unsuccessfully attempted to get me upgraded to first class. He was one of those sweet Middle Eastern men that make me love living here sometimes.

Before I left, he gave me his phone number and I texted him a thank you message. He sent me a couple texts while I was in Cairo, wishing me a happy trip and stuff. The night before I came home, he asked me if I needed any help at the airport when I got back to Riyadh. I told him that I would be okay, but I'd come say hi. Turns out he wasn't working when I got in, so I promised to say hi the next time I was at the airport.

I'm not sure why I thought it would be an airport-only friendship, but I did. And I was wrong. A few days later I got two texts in a row from him within about a ten second period. Here's what he wrote...

"i don,t no bt i thenk u very ceut and u r wung girl. bt mybe u pe mi girlfrend if thes ok wt u coz i like u very match. and thank u. bay bay" and "im sory mellany bt if u wont can i bay to u a coofe or enteng als."

That whole thing's kinda weird for me, but flattering and entertaining at the same time. He thinks I'm cute, young (I'm 12 years older than him), and will buy me anything that costs the same as a coffee! What a sweetie. Time to quit while I'm ahead. I recruited the help of a couple Saudi guys to help me compose a culturally-sensitive text that lets the kid off easy. I told him that he was nice and I like having Saudi friends, so we should keep to being friends.

Nothing exciting there. In fact, the whole story up to this point is such a non-event, I wouldn't even write it if it weren't for the phone call I got that night. I knew I needed to answer it to make sure I didn't hurt his feelings or to clear up any misconceptions. Here's the good part. You're gonna love it.

Airport guy: "I got you a gift while you were in Cairo."

Me: "Really, I don't want anything."

Airport guy: "You'll really like it. It's big, but not too big."

Me: "I can't accept any gifts, but thanks anyway."

Airport guy: "Are you sure? I think you will like it."

Me: "What is it?"

Airport guy: "A cat."


Hahahhaha!!!! I hope he enjoys his new cat.

Issmee Melanie (That’s my Arabic for My Name is Melanie)

One of my favorite things to do here is watch downloaded episodes of My Name is Earl. It’s about a redneck who spends his lottery winnings on fixing all the things he’s done wrong in other people’s lives. I laugh at the wild white trash antics, but started believing in karma a bit myself after watching enough episodes.

I’ve considered myself agnostic for the past twelve years, so believing in karma was a bit of a stretch until I had my own brush with it. It started off with a sweet young man from India who began working on my unit as a housekeeper. He wore some fancy black dress shoes the first day on the job, and I thought it was cute that he was trying to make a good impression. I figured that once he realized all of his coworkers wore comfortable shoes designed for standing in all day, he would blend in a little more. Then he wore those patent leather shoes again the next day, and I began to wonder if he had any other shoes. The following day he wore the same pair of shoes. I knew I had to change that.

That weekend I was going with a few friends to Dammam, a city on the Gulf Coast. My mission for the weekend: get Mr. India some new shoes. Standing on linoleum for eight hours at a time sucks even with the best shoes, and I couldn’t imagine what his feet, legs and back felt like at the end of a shift. I wanted to make him feel better without any of the awkwardness of thanking someone he hardly knew for something he couldn’t afford. His body felt uncomfortable enough, I didn’t want to make the rest of him uncomfortable, too. I put one of my coworkers up to the task of finding out what size of shoe he wore and agreeing to give them to the guy as an anonymous present when I brought them in. I left for my trip.

The trip began with all the awkwardness of Saudi Arabia, with a fancy hotel pool that only the men could use and a cab driver who overcharged us to take us to a “beach” that fit no definition of “beach” by American standards. Instead of going to the prohibitive barrier wall and looking over the edge at the water, my friend and I went to the science museum across the street. We admired the museum that was surprisingly good enough to hold its own against most of the discovery museums I’ve discovered. After about an hour a handsome employee approached us and began showing us all of his favorite exhibits. After awhile, I asked him if he could suggest an inexpensive motel room for the following night. He offered to take us to a few places after he was off work in an hour. I hesitated, not knowing if we would get in trouble riding in a car with an unmarried man who wasn’t related to us, because Saudi Arabia gets bent out of shape about stuff like that.

The man, Rammi, was a perfect gentleman. He took me and my friend around to a few different motels and went inside to talk with the receptionists so we wouldn’t get screwed over. He booked us a room at one hotel, but when they found out the room was for two women, they retracted their offer. He explained that we were nurses, not prostitutes, and somehow managed to talk them into giving us a place to stay. He dropped us off at the mall so I could buy Mr. India some shoes, then offered to show us around the following day. Sweet!

We took him up on his offer and he spent most of the day with us. He bought us food, drove us to the beach, waded in the water with us, paid someone to take us all on a boat ride, helped me get the best deal on some soccer jerseys and wouldn’t let us pay for anything no matter how much we protested. Rammi is one of the reasons I love the Middle East. I see here a welcoming generosity that you really don’t find in any other part of the world that I’ve been. I thought about the Adidas I bought the night before and realized that what I bought was nothing compared to all the time, effort and money that Rammi spent on two girls who were total strangers.

After that incident, I decided to reconsider my firm belief in not believing in anything. I put something good out to the universe, and the universe gave me something even better back. As I hoped that something even more wonderful happened to Rammi, I kept my eyes open for karma working her magic. Then I went home and watched a few more seasons of My Name is Earl, seeing how much more hilarious karma is when it’s on tv.

A couple months after Dammam, my mom came to Riyadh to visit and I saw what should have been a karmic incident play out very differently than how I would have predicted. One of the few touristy things to do here is check out the view of the city from the SkyBridge on the 99th floor of the Kingdom Tower. After my mom and I enjoyed the view and our chats with some of the locals, we headed back down to catch a cab. As we walked to the exit, a young man approached me and said that he recognized me from the airport. He told me that I had boisterously complained about one of his employees to him a few months before, and that he had been scared of me. My jaw dropped and I recognized him, too. Yup, that was me all right! Why he approached me, I’ll never know, but I introduced him to my mom and accepted his offer to buy us a fruit smoothie. We talked for half an hour or so, and he recommended some things to do while my mom was here. He gave me his number and told me to call him if we wanted him to take us to the camel souk or if we needed anything. I began to feel bad about yelling about his coworker, since the guy buying us smoothies was such a sweetheart. For a minute I wondered if karma might have screwed up, or if this guy needed a reminder about the rules of karma or something. After mulling it over for a few minutes, I gladly realized that I’m not like Earl in that tv show. My name is Melanie, and I believe that karma’s a bunch of crap just like any other belief system.

Now that I no longer believe in karma, I feel much better about the universe and all its chaos. Sometimes you get lucky, sometimes you don’t. All I know now is that when I came back to work after my vacation with my mom, I learned that my sweet little Indian friend walked in his semi-new shoes onto a plane and headed back home to Agra, never to return. I miss seeing him around and smiling to myself every time I look at his Adidas.