The Ghutra is the headscarf that all Arab men where on their heads. Tea towel jokes aside, it is a dapper item of clothing (especially the red and white version) and looks good on the Arab men.
When I first arrived in Riyadh I accidentally dried my hands on one hanging in the toilet as I didn’t realise what it was. I’m glad its owner was too busy to notice and from a safe distance I now apologise.
These days I know a lot more about the ghutra and recently discovered yet another of its important functions.
Driving back from work in Khobar a couple of weeks ago I had to stop to use the toilet at the service station. Now I had been warned that the public toilets might not be the most salubrious but I was still dismayed by the strong aromas and explicit visuals that greeted me.
All the toilets were the hole-in-the-ground/stand-and-deliver style. There were three cubicles. The first toilet was flooded (not with water) and the second toilet was full to overflowing (not with liquid).
Generally when a westerner sees one of those squatting toilets their hearts sink. I’m no different. I know it’s meant to be healthier for you, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I don't get the physics. I am not sure which bit should go where or when or how. The custom here seems to be to squat and then use a hose (and then a paper towel) to clean yourself off. Fair enough, you probably come out a lot cleaner than those of us that use the western “scratch and sniff” approach.
But when the hose is used the floor ends up soaking wet and as a westerner a toilet with a wet floor only means one thing - someone has a bad aim. I know it’s not the case but I just can’t stop myself from tip-toeing into the toilet with dismay.
There’s one guy at work who always turns on the hand blow-dryer before he "drops the kids off at the pool." I guess he’s shy.
I think the oddest thing I’ve seen in the toilet so far is the chap who was holding his keyboard under a running tap in order to clean it. I didn’t have the heart to stop him. I have visions of him going back to his PC, plugging in his keyboard and thinking "hmm it’s still not working; it must still be dirty…"
Anyway, as I stood in the service station toilet, carefully considered my options, a chap came out of the third toilet wearing his ghutra tightly wrapped around his nose to block out the smell. I felt a twinge of jealousy and endeavoured to hold my breath as I did battle with the second cubicle.
Once I was done I stumbled out of the cubicle a lighter shade of blue and fled outside at high speed. The desert air has never tasted so sweet.
That’s the problem with the desert of course, no trees to hide behind whilst relieving yourself!
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