Construction and More Toilet Humour

The amount of construction going on in Bahrain and Saudi Arabia is astonishing.

New offices, apartments and shopping malls are shooting up everywhere and the government are spending huge wedges of cash building roads, infrastructure, power plants, desalinisation plants and oil refineries. I’ve been told that 75% of the world’s cranes are presently in the Middle East!

I know things back in the UK are not so good economically and that the country is on the verge of recession, but quite the opposite is true out here. The high oil price means that the Middle East has staggering amounts of money to spend and the present boom is expected to last for another 10 years.

Consider for a moment the Bahrain Royal Family. Now Bahrain is a small country, just 30m long by about 10m wide and has a population of just 500,000. However, the King and his 2 sons have a personal wealth of US$ 900 Billion between them!

So the Arabs are investing very heavily in their infrastructure. The Arab News announced today that the value of construction projects commissioned within the Middle East in 2008 is expected to total over US$ 2 Trillion!!! (That’s right folks…that’s Billion spelt with a T!!) When you consider that the total government spending in the UK is about £600 Billion a year it kind of puts things in perspective.

When I see the amount of construction going on I can’t help but think that It's amazing what you can get done with slave labour these days.

Slave labour? Well there's plenty of anecdotal evidence of actual slavery going on in remote parts of Saudi Arabia. But generally the immigrant construction workers get a pretty raw deal. Most are Pilipino, Indian, Pakistani or Nigerian. If they are lucky they earn US$ 60 a month, and for that they have to work 12 hours a day 6 days a week out in the sun.

Now I know what you are thinking, even at US$ 60 a month they are earning three times what they could in their own country….and you would be correct. However, the workers have to live in appalling conditions and are treated terribly by their employers. Most only get 2 weeks holiday a year and sometimes don’t get paid for weeks on end. To cap things off, their Passports are kept by their employer so they cannot leave the country unless their employer agrees.

Last year in Dubai construction workers attempted to strike because they weren't being paid. Some were so desperate they walked out into the crazy traffic so that their suicide would look like an accident. Families only receive compensation for accidental deaths.

This is not an isolated incident either. In Bahrain, there are regular strikes and protests by workers. Generally the police go in with guns and sticks and end up killing a few of the disgruntled workers.

Last night I was withdrawing money from an ATM in one of Bahrain’s many fabulous malls and two foreign national guys (Pilipino) came up and stood right next to me. Their close proximity was breaking an unwritten ATM rule so as I was completing my transaction I turned to give them the patented Boydell scowl.

When I'd finished one of them made a gesture with his card so I nodded my head and waved him towards the ATM. But he then shook his head and handed his ATM card to me. I realised this wasn't a gift, he didn’t understand English or Arabic (the only two languages the ATM offered) and so he needed my help.

So I ended up entering his pin number, showing him his balance and then helping him withdraw all of his money. After an embarrassed thank you he went immediately to the post office next door to (presumably) wire his money back home.

This is one of the many subtle ways in which people can end up feeling trapped and alienated.
Here is another example. Imagine you speak neither English nor Arabic, you're in the mall and you need the toilet. You live in Saudi Arabia, a country where almost all men wear ghutras (the "tea towel", if you're western and you need a hint) and women cover their faces. You look at this picture on the toilet door and wonder "is this for men or for women?"

Did you get it right or would you have been running for your life from the Muttawa?

The only uncovered woman in Saudi Arabia and she's on the door of a toilet. It's a funny old world.

Is it just me, or does she look like she's in excruciating pain? Is she suffering from constipation or from the Muttawa, I wonder?

Wouldn't it be less confusing to just use the following sign?

Ramadam

As some of you may know, September is the holy month of Ramadam this year.

Ramadam is a religious festival for all muslims and lasts an entire month at the end of which everyone gets a week off work.

However, as a westerner, living through Ramadam is a bit like Purgatory!

During Ramadam, all Muslims are expected to fast in the hours of daylight. Specifically, they are forbidden to eat, drink, smoke or indeed let anything pass their lips between the hours of 4am and 6.30pm....and they have to keep this up for a whole month!

Unfortunately, this being Saudi Arabia, fasting is compulsory for all including westerners.

Ok so at home I can eat and drink as much as I like, but not in public and not at work. You may be thinking that westerners are given a little leeway by the police…..and you would be absolutely wrong.

Last year, a British teacher was seen taking a sip of water from a bottle as he left his school. He was arrested, jailed for 3 months and received 10 lashes in “Chop Chop Square” before being deported. Trust me these guys take it very seriously! I can only imagine that all Diabetics must leave Saudi Arabia during Ramadam!

So what are the results of all this fasting you may wonder? Well, for the Arabs it means getting up at 3.30 am to have a large meal, drink a bucket of water and chain smoke a packet of 20 in quick succession before going back to bed.

As you can imagine during the day, things are very subdued. The Arab work ethic of doing as little as possible becomes even more pronounced as the Saudis struggle to cope with low sugar levels and dehydration. The roads are empty and the normal day to day work routine comes to a virtual standstill. Many Arabs take time off work for the entire period of Ramadam and those that stay only work 3 hrs a day.

Personally, I sneak a sandwich into my laptop bag and about midday I enjoy my lunch locked away in the toilet. I’m sure my Muslim work colleagues know this but they seem to be turning a blind eye!

At 6.30pm things go crazy as starving Muslims begin scoffing bars of chocolate and experience an immediate sugar rush. Must Saudi’s, relieved at getting through the day, then party until about 1am in the morning, knowing that they will only get a few hours sleep before they have to get up again.

Although the roads are virtually empty, I have noticed that the standards of driving ability have reached new and more dangerous lows. Again I can only put this down to the driver suffering from a combination of lack of sleep and dehydration. Indeed in the Arab News today is an article about how the number of road deaths increases by over 20% during Ramadam.

Another big downside in Bahrain is that all the bars, brothels and off-licences close during Ramadam. For some reason I cannot fathom, the causeway is almost entirely devoid of traffic. Could it be that the multitude of Saudi’s that normally cross over into Bahrain every weekend, only come over for the Booze and the chicks…….surely not!!! I would wash my mouth out, but as its daylight this is of course Harram!!

Growing Old in Geant

Last night on my way home from work I popped into my local hypermarket, known as Geant getting some shopping. Geant is a French owned company and their hypermarkets are very popular with westerners in the middle east.

There was probably twice as many staff than customers. This is not unusual with labour costing so little out here. Usually there are at least 4 staff on each till, the cashier, a packer, a supervisor and the cashiers friends to whom all the other staff are talking to, completely ignoring their customers.

As the shop was so empty, it was a very pleasant shopping experience.Until, that is, I went to pay. I was immediately annoyed because the cashier tore the barcode label on the oranges that I had carefully picked out. So the cashier sent the foreign worker chap that does the packing to get a replacement pack of oranges.

The Geant hypermarket is vast. It’s so big that a Saudi prince could safely store his 747’s in it and still have room left over for a handful of Bentleys. Our cashier was at one end of the store and the oranges (and trifles) were on the distant horizon, right at the other end.

The cashier grumbled and dispatched the packer.

Time passed… tectonic plates shifted…

Finally the packer returned. Tired from his long journey he had simply picked the first oranges he could find. Rather than the plump, juicy, bright oranges I had picked I now had oranges suffering from scurvy!

I’d also picked two small trifles as a 5 SAR treat. The cashier picked them up and saw that there were no barcode labels on either of them. His English was as good as my Arabic so my attempts to explain that none of the other trifles had labels on either were in vain.

The cashier grumbled and dispatched the packer.

Time passed… acorns grew into oak trees…

Occasionally I would look at the cashier and he would look at me. I couldn't use humour to diffuse the situation and assure him that the wait was no problem because we couldn't communicate with each other. We stood in silence.

Time passed… my blood pressure continued its steady climb…

Finally I could see the packer meandering his way back. As he approached he held out his hand triumphantly… he had picked two completely different desserts! He’d seen that none of the trifles had price tags so he’d made an executive decision and changed my menu!

Much gesticulating and pointing followed.

The cashier grumbled and dispatched the packer.

Time passed… the dollar weakened… Geant was making me poorer and I hadn’t even paid the bill yet!

There was a conspicuous lack of packer on the horizon. I looked at the cashier. He looked at me. We both looked away.

Time passed… icebergs melted, continents slipped further into the sea…

Finally we could see the packer making his leisurely way back to us. He seemed somehow smaller than before. His miles of travelling were clearly taking their toll.He slowly handed over two trifles to the cashier.

Was that a bead of sweat on his forehead? I couldn’t believe it! One of the trifles had clearly gone off! Instead of nice fluffy whipped cream it looked like someone had spilled mustard on it!
Much gesticulating and pointing followed.

The cashier grumbled and looked at the packer. The packer looked imploringly at me. I looked at the cashier. Obviously someone needed to go and get another trifle.

Time passed… the universe expanded… the tides changed as the moon orbited the Earth…
I thought to myself "Bloody hell. No wonder the packer took so long. This IS a long walk!"

Muttawa

Anyone even remotely connected to Saudi Arabia knows about the Muttawa. For those that don’t they are the basically the religious policemen here. Most Westerners will experience them in shopping malls as they walk around asking the women to cover their hair and generally make sure they properly dressed in public places and ensuring that local business close whenever its Salat (prayer) time.

You can tell a Muttawa by the way they dress. Their throbes are shorter than normal by about 3 inches and only go down to their ankles. In addition they don’t wear an iqal (that’s the black round band that holds the ghutra (headscalf) in place). They also carry stick which they don’t mind using to tap or hit people they are shouting at.

There are some sinister stories about them and the way they treat Western women but in my first experience with one this week he was so polite I was actually unsure about whether he was Muttawa or just a fuss-pot. I went into the local Panda supermarket to get some bread and milk to take home to flat in Bahrain when the Muttawa came over to talk to me.

His English was reasonable and he explained politely that I couldn’t go into the supermarket because it was a time reserved for families only and therefore no single men were allowed. Had the Muttawa not been there, the supermarket would have let me in. I was struck by how polite he was. Normally the Muttawa just shout intimidatingly at their victims and get handy with their sticks!

One story I recently heard involved a group of western women who went to Bata to do some shopping. Sometimes Bata is not the sort of place that western women should go to alone. Whilst they were there a group of guys groped them.
The Muttawa witnessed what happened and stopped both the men and the women. They then gave the women their sticks and invited them to beat the men who groped them.

Unfortunately they didn’t avail themselves of the opportunity.

Another recent story I heard was that American women's society met over a restaurant in Riyadh. It was a women-only affair; they ate a little dinner and had a few stalls to buy trinkets from.

The Muttawa arrived and told the ladies that they all had to leave. Their reason? too many ladies together in one place!

The Muttawa are going through difficult times right now. In the past they were paid a salary by the government to go around ordering people about. In recent years though the government has stopped paying them, so now all Muttawa have to fund themselves. Consequently, I understand that the Muttawa are a much rarer sight on the streets than before. Is this evidence of the Kings desire to bring about change in the Kingdom?

They will be letting the women drive next!!!!!!

Justin Gets Traffic Violated

Last month a friend of mine, David was driving back from Bahrain to Riyadh. He drives a nice car. A very nice BMW in fact (he works as a cartographer and obviously has more generous employers than me). As his family was with him he was driving back carefully, below the 120 km/h speed limit and way below the apparently expected speed of around 180 km/h.

This perhaps was his gravest mistake.

A police car pulled up along side them at a set of traffic lights and the two cops inside stared at their nice car. They stared at their white skin. They gaped at their fair hair. They then pulled them over and tried to find an excuse to give them a ticket. They failed to find a valid reason, so they wrote them a speeding ticket. They gave them a speeding ticket whilst they weren't even moving!

This is the Police in the Magic Kingdom!

If you drive on Al Khobar’s main highways at night you see a large number of cars stopped by unmarked traffic police cars. You don't see a Mercedes or a Porsche stopped as the Police
presume these to be driven by a Prince or at least someone with influence. The majority of the cars pulled over are pick-up trucks or less expensive cars.

Sadly I'm driving the latter kind of car rather than the former.

So it had to happen eventually, didn't it?Very early this morning I drove to work for what I knew would be a long day. I was doing 115 km/h in the middle lane of the highway where the speed limit is 120 km/h when I noticed the car ahead being forced to brake by a weaver.

I changed lanes to avoid the danger and suddenly a silver car pulled right up behind me, tailgating me with barely a yard's gap. I decided to move back into the middle lane to avoid him but he followed me.

Suddenly police lights started flashing and I realised it was an unmarked police car so I moved into the slow lane to allow him to pass but he followed me….. I finally realised that I was being stopped by the police! Outrage and indignation swiftly arrived but were quickly beaten into submission by fear and resignation.

"What on Earth can he be pulling me over for?" I wondered to myself.

I pulled the car onto the verge by the side of the highway and he pulled in behind me. I should explain at this point that in most countries I've visited if you are stopped by the traffic police you never get out of your car (unless you want to be shouted at). You wait in your car for them to come to you.

It slips my mind that Saudi may be different.

I sat in my car and the policeman sat in his car. Time passed.

I frowned at him through my rear view mirror and I noticed he was fidgeting a bit. I wondered when the hell he was going to come and see me. He stared back at me. He was probably wondering when the hell I was going to go and see him. Time continued to pass.

Eventually he blasted his police siren and realisation dawned on me. I got out of my car and walked over to him. He wound down his window and I decided to shake his hand.

Me: Salaam!
PO: Salaam!
Me: Err, is there a mushkilla officer? (I apologise to all Arabic speakers for my casual butchering of their language. Mushkilla means "problem"....I think)
PO: Istemarah!
Me: Oh… right… umm…

I walked back to my car, retrieved my passport (which I assumed was my Istemarah, but who knows) and my driver's license and walked back to the police car. The lights were still flashing almost blinding me.

Me: Here you are.
PO: (pointing at my car) Car!
Me: Yes, err, it’s a car. I assume he wants my help to check his English vocabulary.
PO: Car! Car!
Me: Yes, it's my car. Well, it’s a leased vehicle actually…..
PO: CAR! CAR!!We looked at each other.
Me: Ohhhh! You want me to go back to my car! Right… well… goodbye then.

I walked back to my car with hunched shoulders and sat down. I called the office to let them know I might be a bit (or perhaps a day) late and squirmed impatiently. I made sure the policeman could see that I was using my mobile in the hope that he might get worried about who I was calling. I hoped he was sitting in his car wondering if I have powerful Wastah (a Mr fix-it/ a man of influence) I sat in my car looking at my phone, and wondered if I did have powerful Wastah...... Damn it, I didnt!

I began to wonder what the arrest sheet would say."Boydell. Pompous git. Arrested for driving a cheap car under the speed limit. Given extra time for bad hair."More time passed. (Note to self: keep a book in the car for just such emergencies!!)

I looked in my rear view mirror. The policeman was chatting on his mobile phone! I wondered who he was talking to. Was he calling his mum to find out when dinner was going to be ready or was he arranging to have a whitey-hating psychopathic prisoner moved to my jail cell?

Time passed. The moon orbited the Earth! Or maybe it's the other way around…. normal laws no longer seemed to apply. I’d been waiting like a dipstick in my car for almost 30 minutes by now!

Next to me on the highway tailgaters, weavers, swervers, sliders and crazies continued to speed on their merry way completely ignored by the policeman.

More time passed and I slowly began to realise that my chances of waiting this long only to be told that I could go free were very slim indeed. I wondered whether I should have behaved differently. Perhaps deference was a bad decision and maybe belligerence might have worked.
Or it might have put me straight into the back of his car in a pair of shiny new handcuffs.

I looked back at him again and my mouth dropped open. He was lighting a cigarette! This was unbelievable! He was sitting there without a care in the world! Was this a post-coital cigarette after royally screwing me? Was it good for him? It wasn't good for me! I wondered whether he'd notice if I just drove back to my flat.

Enough of this I thought and I got out of my car and walked back to him.

Me: So... is there a mushkilla, mate?
PO: Car, car! …one minute.
Me: Ohh… only one more minute? Ok...

I walked back to my car once again and drifted away. I imagined I was a Muslim chap in England with a long beard and that I’d been stopped by the traffic police because I'm a Muslim chap in England with a long beard. The real me commiserated the imaginary me. The imaginary me grinned back and told me to get lost!

I began to fret about what the conditions in the traffic police jail would be like and I realised to my horror that I needed the toilet. I needed a number two! My imagination started to conjure up images of the worst police toilets in the world. The sights! The sounds! Oh god, the smell!! I crossed my legs and began to pray for salvation.

Suddenly behind me he blasted his siren. I looked in my rear view mirror and he looked back at me. His lights were blinding. I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to make contact or just having a laugh so I got back to worrying about the toilet.

He blasted his siren again. I tried to look at him through the rear view mirror but by now his lights had killed my vision. I opened my door and leaned out to see if I could see him. I couldn’t.
I wondered if the police toilet would have a lock on the door. Would there be toilet paper? Why hadn’t I learned how to use that damn hose they have out here next to each toilet?

He blasted his siren again and finally I got out of my car to see if he was trying to get my attention. He was because he was now gesticulating angrily. I'm obviously the most stupid person he has ever stopped. At least now he'd have a story to tell at dinner parties.

I walked back to his car and he handed me a small piece of paper which I looked at dubiously.

PO: Ok!

My passport is nowhere to be seen and the red mist began its inevitable descent. Angrily I opened the piece of paper. The policeman has carefully and neatly folded it around my passport and It struck me as the most considerate and sweet thing anyone had ever done and engendered immediate feelings of warmth towards him. However the feelings didn’t last long because the piece of paper was a traffic violation!

He looked up at me, yanked his seat belt and said "Seat belt!"

I wouldn't even sit in my car in Saudi Arabia without my seat belt on! I value my life too much! I couldn’t believe he was going to fine me for something I blatantly didn't do and something he blatantly could not have seen from behind me anyway!

Me (outraged): Of course I was wearing my seat belt!
PO (sarcastically): Ohh… "of course"!
Me: Yes, of course!
PO: Ok. Bye bye! And he waved me off.

In a daze I walked back to my car, put on my seat belt in the most theatrical manner possible, turned on the engine, indicated and slowly crawled away.

The fine was only SAR 200.00 (about £20) and I have to pay it at a police station today otherwise I wouldn’t be allowed out of the country back to Bahrain.

I think it's time to get a nicer car!!!!

Al Harram

Haram: Not permitted, not allowed, sinful…

In Saudi a lot of things are haram. Alcohol is haram. Pork is haram. Being alone with a member of the opposite sex who is not a close relative is haram. Some people say smoking is also haram… which is probably why women are forbidden to smoke.

In Al Khobar they actually have a chain of superstores called “Al Haram”. I drove past one a few weeks ago and it was absolutely packed.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed that it’s the store where I can pick up some beer and bacon, but somehow I doubt it….