Arabic Lesson # 4: Turkish Coffee

My first trip to the Middle East was Christmastime 1996.  We had spent a couple of days in Amman, Jordan and were headed for Beirut, Lebanon where my husband’s mother, sister, and a multitude of cousins lived.  When we arrived at my mother-in-law’s home, my husband, Bishara, and I were greeted warmly with hugs and kisses, along with pots of stuffed lamb intestines and grape leaves, kibbie (burgle with raw meat), malfoof (stuffed cabbage), and homemade hommous.  We were told there was more where that came from, including kusa (stuffed squash), falafel, shakreiha (lamb with rice, pine nuts, and laban), tabouli, fattoush, and other specially prepared dishes for our visit, in the neighboring friends’ refrigerators.  The very first thing we consumed, though, in the tidy and colorful sitting room squeezed full of aunts, uncles, cousins and friends was flavorful Turkish coffee.  And the Turkish coffee didn’t stop flowing for the entire ten days we were in Beirut and the surrounding towns.  While a guest may be offered Nescafe (milk with Nescafe and sugar) or tea in small clear glasses, Turkish coffee is the drink of choice in non-Gulf Arab countries like Lebanon and Jordan.  (In Qatar and other Gulf countries like Saudi Arabia, Oman, and the United Arab Emirates, “Arabic coffee” is quite different in taste and texture, combining cardamom and saffron with ground coffee.)  I will be writing about “Arabic coffee,” (cardamom coffee), in a future post.    

Grinder belonging to Bishara’s mother.

While in Lebanon, Bishara related to me that when he was a child in Jordan and Lebanon (in the summers) his mother bought raw coffee beans originating from Brazil at the local grocer’s for her Turkish coffee.  The beans, still green, were placed in a roaster on a portable stand on the stove and manually rotated by Bishara’s mother until they were a deep, dark brown.  A manual grinder with a drawer was used to pulverize the roasted beans into a finely ground powder.  These days, however, you find beans already roasted and ground in coffee shops across Lebanon and Jordan.

I had become familiar with Turkish coffee during the 17 years Bishara and I lived in the Washington, DC area and in the two years before we had shared together as students at the University of Florida.  I had fond memories of my husband in our Charleston-style home in the suburbs of DC huddled over our kitchen stove on a Saturday morning, teaspoon in hand, nursing the foam from the fine grounds of Turkish coffee bubbling up in the small aluminum container (bakraj or ibrik) seated on the edge of the heating element.

Bishara and I would regularly visit the Mediterranean Bakery in Alexandria, Virginia, a short distance from where we lived, to buy the grounds for our Turkish coffee.  We would roam the aisles of the small, family-owned, store behind a mini-grocery cart we would fill with canned chick peas, zahter (powdered thyme), pine nuts, labneh (similar to sour cream), hommous, and babaganoush, while the aroma of cardamom, freshly baked pita bread, and fruit flavored tobacco wafted through the air.  Soon after arriving at the Mediterranean Bakery we would order fresh fatayer with spinach, cheese, and labneh at the back counter, and our last task before leaving the store would always be to have coffee beans ground for the makings of Turkish coffee.  Endorphins surged as the scent of the pestled beans drifted along my nasal canals while we watched the store owner skillfully grind the roasted beans into a pan and pour them in a small brown plastic bag for us to take home.

Parties at our home in the northern Virginia suburbs would be replete with tablah drumming by Bishara, belly dancing, Lebanese mezzah, and Turkish coffee.  Oftentimes, Bishara would read the thick coffee grounds lurking in the bottom of demitasse cups to our guests’ delight, a skill my husband gleaned from his grandmother when he lived in southern Lebanon as a young child.  I’m not a big believer in reading tea leaves, tarot cards and fortune telling, but Bishara does have a gift for keying into people’s auras.  (Bishara always reminds me, though, that he is not nearly as good at reading Turkish coffee grounds as his sister.)  Each swirl, image, or clumping of grounds denotes a significant event in the past, present, or future; Bishara always apologizes for not being tuned into the exact timeframe.  The final step in the cup reading is the “yes” or “no” question when the guest asks about something silently that must be phrased to be answered with a “yes” or “no.”  Bishara advises the guest to concentrate on the question, lick the tip of their right thumb and press their thumb into the bottom of the cup.  “Ah,” says Bishara, “the answer is yes, and, by the way, you have a very white heart,” or “it will happen, but there are some roadblocks in the way.”  Bishara always teases me that he can’t read my cup, because he knows me too well; it would seem unfair.

Our relocation to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia in late 2000, and Doha, Qatar in early Fall 2004, allowed me the opportunity to experience the sights, sounds, and smells of the Turkish coffee experience from a whole new perspective, while Bishara reconnected with the experience in a more familiar setting and at a more organic level.  I was, increasingly, becoming less the novice and more ensconced with the notion that the serving of Turkish coffee was the harbinger of protracted conservation with friends and family, often coupled with pistachios, Arabic sweet pastries, fatayer, and olives.  In other words, a time to sit back, relax and enjoy the moments.

How to Make Turkish Coffee

• Heat up water in bakraj/ibrik until it starts to boil.  Bakraj’s vary in size from a two-person pot, around three inches tall, to a ten-person pot, around five inches tall.

• For every demitasse cup, use one heaping teaspoon of coffee and one level teaspoon of sugar.  The amount of sugar, however, depends on individual taste.  My husband and I tend to like our Turkish coffee sweeter.  (If you like cardamom, include 1/8 of a teaspoon for every potful when coffee placed in bakraj.)

• As coffee mixture heats up, foam and floating coffee are important components of the texture, and resulting flavor, of the coffee.

• When mixture starts to boil, again, remove the bakraj off the stove, and stir, and as coffee mixture recedes, put bakraj back on hot stove.

• Wait until mixture starts to boil, again.  Remove the bakraj, again, and stir.

• Put bakraj, again, on stove, let it boil, and then remove, and it’s ready to serve.

________________________________________

. . . And now for our Arabic lesson for my western friends.  (This is vernacular Arabic using  the Lebanese dialect.)

When do you want to meet for coffee?

متى تريد أن تجتمع لقهوة؟           MATA TUREED AN TEJTAMAH LE QAHWAH ?

_____________________________

Is the coffee ready?

هل القهوة جاهزة ؟                   HAL AL QAHWAH JAHZAH?

_____________________________

Do you want milk and sugar with your (the) coffee?

هل تريد الحليب والسكر مع القهوة ؟              HAL TUREED AL HALEEB WA AL SUKAR MAH AL QAHWAH?

_____________________________

How many spoons of sugar would you like (want)?

كم ملعقة من السكر تريد؟                           KUM MILAHQAH MEN AL SUKAR TUREED?

_________________________________________________________________

MATA = WHEN

TUREED = YOU WANT

AN = TO (or “THAT” or “AT”)

TEJTAMAH = MEET

LE = FOR (or “TO”)

QAHWAH = COFFEE

HAL = IS (or “ARE” or “DO” or “WAS” or “WERE” ; but only in a question)

AL = THE

JAHZAH = READY

HALEEB = MILK

WA = AND

SUKAR = SUGAR

MAH = WITH

KUM = HOW MANY (or “HOW MUCH”)

MILAHQAH = SPOON(S)

MEN = OF (or “FROM”)

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Women, Culture, and Identity in Qatar – Part 2

Part two of my interview (with Sherifa Hammam) published in the newsletter of Peace X Peace, a global organization, which promotes “women’s capacity to connect across divides.”

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The link to my article is:  Women, Culture, and Identity in Qatar – Part 2

Sherifa Hammam

 

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• Women, Culture, and Identity in Qatar – Part 1 (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
  
• An American Woman in Saudi Arabia (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)

 

Women, Culture, and Identity in Qatar – Part 1

I have been published in the e-newsletter of Peace X Peace, an organization that “nurtures a global network of ‘peacebuilders’ in 120 countries.”

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The link to my article is:  Women, Culture, and Identity in Qatar – Part 1 .

Me and Sherifa in Desert of Qatar

 

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Becoming a Successful Career Woman in Saudi Arabia (Part Two)

(I originally published this article in Matador Abroad, June 2010.) 

I had been a career woman in Saudi Arabia for a matter of months, having left a satisfying life in Washington, DC with my husband and two miniature poodles in tow for a cultural adventure in this intriguing land of black abayes, and white thobes and ghuttras.  My experience at King Faisal Specialist Hospital (KFSH) in Riyadh began in November 2000 and within a short time helped illuminate the importance of “people time” in the Saudi workplace, as well as the emphasis placed on achieving a healthy balance between work and “home life.”

The KFSH compound itself actually helped to bridge the work-life divide in some interesting and unexpected ways. Its vast property catered to single, expatriate females, primarily nurses, by providing a large array of amenities. From grocery stores and flower shops to a bowling alley, post office, and Dunkin’ Donuts, the grounds included everything that an average, western girl needed to feel at home, minimizing her exposure to the Kingdom’s unfamiliar customs.

King Faisal Specialist (KFSH) ~ Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Most days, these many facilities, combined with the overall make-up of the staff, made it easy to mistake the hospital premises for a small town or planned community. Browsing the magazine racks in the grocery store always brought me back to reality. Black magic marker blotted out the bare arms, legs and cleavage of the models on the magazine covers.

My spine bridled when I first opened one of the women’s magazines to find each of the pictures of the young models with similar blackened arms and cleavage; each magazine I flipped through was the same. Later, I discovered that one of the informal duties of the mottawah, or religious police, involved shielding the community from even the slightest hints of sexuality.

This sort of seemingly nonsensical mottawah activity provided fodder for uneasy chuckles and long discussions about our mutual unconventional experiences within the Kingdom at weekend expatriate gatherings or evening fetes. Many of my single female expatriate friends who remained in Saudi Arabia for an extended period of time eventually came to the conclusion that the financial rewards and unique professional and personal experiences gleaned from life in the Kingdom outweighed concerns over eccentric and baffling pursuits by the mottawah.

While the mottawah were not permitted on the hospital premises, I remained mindful of my dress, especially for work. In the States, I might have decided on my outfit for the day in the precious minutes between drying my hair and heading downstairs for a bite of breakfast. Although my clothing options were more limited in the Kingdom, my early days at KFSH found me devoting significant time to picking out clothes that were both respectful of the stringent cultural customs and professional.

During my induction at KFSH I half expected to be greeted with a neatly divided fleet of robes and pant suits. Instead, Western women like me were permitted to forgo the black abaye on the hospital grounds; we were strongly counseled, though, to have our arms and knees covered, and low-cut blouses were strictly prohibited.

When off hospital grounds, Western women typically wear the abaye; in some shopping malls they are required to wear a headscarf or otherwise risk an encounter with the “mottawah.” In extreme circumstances a woman or her husband, who in the “mottawah’s eyes allowed her to dress indecently, might face jailing.

Like most other female expatriates I normally wore a mid-calf (or longer) skirt or pants, and a long white lab coat to work. My colleagues’ fashion, however, reflected both the cultural and stylistic diversity in the workplace. The Saudi woman working at the passport desk was completely covered in black, her eyes, two charcoal pools, stared back at me. Her Sudanese workmate at a station in close proximity wore a colorful yellow and blue sarong and head covering that exposed her entire unmade face, leaving wisps of hair peeking under her scarf.

At the hospital, Lebanese women stood out in stark contrast to all others not only in attire but also in their confident demeanor; these women sported tight pants, immaculately coiffured hair and painstakingly applied makeup, demonstrating their knowledge of the latest fashion trends. Lebanese women followed the same kind of cultural mores as other Arab women such as covering their arms and legs while on the hospital grounds and wearing the abaye and headscarf in public (with their faces exposed) when off the hospital premises.  Yet, it appeared as if there was an unspoken understanding in the Arab world that granted Lebanese women more fashion freedom. Conceivably this nonconformity was due to the regular influx of Western European tourists into Lebanon during its golden age in the 1960’s and early 1970’s, before the civil war, when it was known as “the Paris of the Middle East.”

In any event it became increasingly apparent to me that women from Gulf countries such as Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Bahrain were clearly more reserved and demure in dress and behavior in public settings than those women from non-Gulf countries, such as Lebanon, Syria, Egypt and Jordan. I soon found that despite the divergence in clothing styles and presentation, women were not typically the objects of unwanted glances or stares that sometimes find their way into Western workplaces dominated with male colleagues.  In fact, great lengths were taken to shield women from this unwanted attention; Arab women’s offices were never positioned along a main corridor, and some women even hung curtain material over the entrances of their partitioned offices.

KFSH Dining Hall (Riyadh)

As I became more acclimated to my new professional surroundings and adjusted my demeanor and appearance to fit in, one particularly surprising aspect to the Saudi workplace continued to fascinate me: the relationship between women and their hair.

It might sound trivial to Western women who fail to think of their hair beyond fretting over its neatness, messiness, or frizzyness, but Saudi women experience their hair in a completely different manner. In the Kingdom, strict mores exist about the public display of women’s hair, and Saudi women exercise careful attention to keep their hair covered with few exceptions.

I distinctly recall dashing to the restroom early one morning before a meeting and running into my workmate, Amal, splashing her face with a bit of water, her shiny raven colored locks free from the confines of the obligatory headscarf. Restrooms were one of the few locations at work where a Saudi woman felt safe and sheltered enough to bare her hair.

Wednesday morning breakfasts of Lebanese mazzah that featured mounds of hummus and babaganoush, freshly baked pita bread, tabouli, fattoush, and spirited chatter behind closed conference room doors were another. Although I usually felt awkward when I noticed a Saudi woman uncover her hair, as if I were intruding on a particularly private and intimate moment, I inevitably found it hard to look away.

Despite the ubiquitous headscarf, Arab women take great pains to style their hair based on the current rage, commonly sporting fashionable cuts and trendy highlights. Some of these women were particularly exquisite looking with their luxurious hairstyles framing ebony pools of their eyes.

On another occasion Aisha, also an officemate, came into my office and glanced around furtively, making sure we were unobserved, before tentatively removing her headscarf. Her dark brown wavy hair spilled around her face, and she asked if I liked her new haircut. “Oh, yes, it looks great,” I affirmed. “You know, Michele, you should really try putting highlights into your hair like Alia,” Aisha quipped. “Highlights would really bring out your face.” My heart swelled with humility; this from a woman who, in public, outside of hospital grounds, was not only required to cover her hair, but her face, as well.

Working “shoulder to shoulder” with my female Saudi counterparts I came to learn that they had an acute appreciation for their career opportunities, were extremely hardworking, and remained intensely disciplined, particularly those without young children.

I often felt like a surrogate mother or big sister to some of the younger, female Saudi women, one of whom would even stop by my office regularly to discuss some of her more private marital challenges, which invariably most women face. “My husband isn’t spending enough time with me,” she fretted on one occasion. “Sometimes he goes out with other men, and doesn’t tell me where he’s going or what he’s doing,” adding “I feel that maybe he doesn’t love me anymore and is not interested in me.”

I admit that at times I felt off-balance during these encounters, happy yet daunted by this level of trust from a workmate; I couldn’t recall ever having these kinds of intimate discussions in the American workplace. “Marriage is complex and challenging,” I began tentatively, trying to give my best Dr. Phil advice. “It has its ‘ups and downs,’ and there are some points during a marriage when the man and woman feel somewhat distant from each other. You just have to nourish the marriage like you have to water a flower to make sure it grows and stays healthy.”

She remained expressionless, yet I glimpsed a flicker of understanding before she bolted away to answer her incessantly ringing phone in her office down the hall. I always felt honored to be a trusted colleague and friend during these moments. The professionalism of my American employers suited my career aims, but after becoming familiar with this more familial work culture, I realized how many U.S. offices, by their very nature, discourage these types of personal interactions.

The heart-wrenching tragedy of September 11, 2001 certainly challenged some of my budding relationships with my Saudi co-workers. The events of that day left Bishara and me emotionally spent and quite discouraged as initial reports implicated Saudi involvement in the attacks.

As I tentatively entered the office the following day, Abdullah cautiously approached and asked, “Are you alright, Michele?” adding “I am so sorry about what happened.” He continued, “I hope that nobody you knew was hurt or affected.” I told Abdullah I appreciated his concern and felt a bit of relief that there weren’t any hostilities toward me.

KFSH, like many places in the Kingdom, certainly had its factions that disagreed with American policies, and I became apprehensive when it was confirmed that Saudis participated in perpetuating the attacks.

However, I was astounded one late afternoon several weeks after 9/11 when Samer, a Saudi finance manager and collaborator on one of my reports, bristled when I expressed concern for Americans living in Saudi Arabia. He exclaimed, “Michele, if anybody tries to get near you, anybody at all, I will put myself between them and you.” He paused for a moment, and continued “And I know your workmates would do the same.” Samer’s gesture rendered me mute for a split second; I barely managed a curt, “Thank you, Samer.” Despite my enduring trepidation, in this moment I had a renewed sense of faith in humanity.

Many of my friends back in the States still wondered at my dubious choice, fearing that I had traded one competitive work culture for another one with additional, improbable challenges. They emailed regularly with endless queries: How was I coping? Did I miss family and friends? How did I manage working under such (they envisioned) strict and sterile conditions?

I greatly appreciated their concern, but I assured them that I was thriving with each new discovery. In the midst of what was becoming a fulfilling and productive life transition, more change ensued: My heart sank in late spring 2003 when we discovered that my husband, Bishara had a life-threatening medical condition.

We considered having Bishara treated in the U.S., but after much deliberation we realized that Bishara would receive “top notch” medical care from KFSH doctors who had studied at some of the finest medical institutions in the world. I was not only gravely concerned about my husband, but acutely aware of how this might impact my work arrangements. I found myself in Abdullah’s office, again, hoping to trade on his good graces.

“Abdullah,” I began, as I closed the office door behind me, a lump forming in my throat, “Bishara is going to be in the hospital for an extended period of time, and I’m going to need to work out a leave schedule with you so I can split my time between work and spending time with Bishara.”

Before I could continue Abdullah jumped in, “Michele, while Bishara is in the hospital, I am not your boss, Bishara is your boss. Anytime Bishara wants you to take off from work, take leave time; and I am not going to charge you for any time off as long as Bishara is in the hospital!”

He must have seen the uncertainty in my face because he added, “It’s okay, go off and see Bishara. He needs you!” My eyes welled and my limbs trembled as I stepped over to shake hands with my gracious benefactor, the same man who had made such a stony impression on me when I first arrived.

I couldn’t help but reflect on how far my working relationship with Abdullah had come in the short years I had been at KFSH due, at least in part, to my own personal and professional growth rooted in this unparalleled cultural experience. My initial meeting with Abdullah in November 2000 had left me numb and certain that my best efforts to contribute to the financial success of the hospital would be thwarted at every turn.

At the time, I thought maybe what I had heard in the states about women lacking respect or receiving unfair treatment by men in the Middle East was true. In that instant, I had questioned my decision to leave my comfortable life in Washington, DC for this unfathomable and strange life in the Kingdom.

Yet Abdullah’s unwavering support of me and my husband during this time of crisis, (and on other projects and ventures throughout my time at KFSH), simply affirmed that I was where I belonged: among a very unique community of individuals who had as much to teach me as I had to teach them.

One early evening, around the anniversary of my first year at KFSH, bone weary after several twelve-plus hour days at the office, I turned my bleary eyes to Abdullah as he swung through my office door.

“You know, Michele,” he exclaimed, “you are the one person in our group who I know when I give her a task, will get the job done right!” My knees nearly buckled with the unexpected compliment. Taking a breath, I merely smiled saying “Abdullah, I think it’s time for a cup of tea.”

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Becoming a Successful Career Woman in Saudi Arabia (Part One)

(I originally published this article in Matador Abroad, June 2010.)  

“I never wanted you here,” he said. “When they asked me I told them that you were all wrong for the job.”

My heart skipped a beat. I stared dumbstruck at the bits of frayed, brown mesh office carpet, the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the windows of the King Faisal Specialist Hospital (KFSH) in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.

King Faisal Specialist Hospital (Riyadh, Saudi Arabia) ~ Administration building where I worked.

It was November, 2000. Just days ago, my husband, Bishara, and I had left a nearly idyllic life in Washington, DC, where we had shared a five-bedroom home complete with the requisite American white picket fence, to come to Saudi Arabia.

Our flight from Washington Dulles airport to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia lasted nearly 20 grueling hours, taking with it our two beloved apricot poodles, our 43 pieces of luggage: our entire life. Five words threatened to make our journey half way across the world meaningless. I peered at Abdullah, the man whom I had looked forward to meeting as my new boss, in his crisp, white thobe and ghuttra, searching his cherubic face, trying to comprehend his words without letting my emotions get the best of me. Was I prepared to let my hard work be squelched by this soft-spoken bureaucrat?

Relocating to Saudi Arabia was not a choice that my husband and I had entered into lightly. After spending seventeen years in the urban grind of the nation’s capital, I began to notice a kind of restlessness in my life.  I had a happy and fulfilling personal life with my husband and friends, and I enjoyed my job and co-workers, but I couldn’t shake the notion that I had reached a plateau; I felt as if I were standing at the edge of an imaginary shore like a sailor’s wife, willing a familiar ship to appear on the horizon.

I wrangled with guilt in feeling compelled to step out of this perfectly fine existence. While dating Bishara, a Christian Lebanese national born in Jordan, I became acquainted with, what seemed to me, the enigmatic and esoteric region of the Middle East.  I remained curious about that part of the world after we married, always intrigued when Bishara talked about his childhood and experiences growing up overseas. My yearning – like a low-grade fever – for a cultural adventure caught up with me in late 1999 when I felt particularly drawn towards the inscrutable Saudi Arabia.

There was no denying the effect that even the mere mention of the Kingdom had on me; my mind turned over images of white washed palaces, cobble-stoned streets jammed with merchants’ carts, and regal women enveloped in black gliding silently through airy plazas. The pictures flickered by like scenes from a film not yet completed. As I shared my feelings with Bishara, his normally merry eyes clouded and his forehead tensed. “Saudi Arabia, why Saudi Arabia?” he asked.

I could not articulate exactly why, I just knew this was the place I needed to explore at this juncture. The more I turned over the possibility of starting a new life in this mysterious country, the more enthusiastic I felt.  Newfound energy replaced my restlessness and eventually swayed my initially reluctant husband.

I thought, perhaps naively, that finding employment might be the toughest hill to climb in making this life transition. For nine months, my husband and I worked feverishly to secure jobs in Saudi Arabia. After an initial trip to the Kingdom with the US-Saudi Business Council in February 2000, Bishara was fortunate to meet a Saudi sheikh who kindly promised to secure a job for me first and then Bishara, as Saudi work restrictions limited my job prospects to academe, hospitals, and women’s banks.

True to his word, a week after Bishara’s phone conversation with the sheikh we received a call from King Faisal Specialist Hospital, a highly regarded medical institution in the Middle East with a well-trained staff, requesting my CV.  Two weeks later we were notified of my new position as head of a recently established department in the finance office.

My initial excitement was short lived, replaced with administrative headaches: innumerable phone calls to management at KFSH about the details of my employment contract and salary, figuring out the logistics of bringing our two miniature apricot poodles with us, repeated trips to the doctor for the required medical tests, and supplying the hospital with criminal history reports, visa forms, and family records.

I began to think our new life in Saudi Arabia would never materialize. Whether by the sheer force of my determination or from a series of lucky breaks, I nevertheless found myself thousands of miles from the only home I had ever known, meeting my new employer.

“Abdullah,” I began, finally finding my voice. “I came here to be a team player, to work hard and assist your department to be the best it can be.” A flicker of remorse passed across Abdullah’s face. “Well,” he retorted, “I really don’t think you have the appropriate background to be part of our group.”

With my resolve building, I persevered. “Abdullah, I am interested in learning and I’m a quick study; I’m sure that any weaknesses I have can be overcome.”

Abdullah fixed me with a stern, quizzical look and then abruptly turned his back, striding down the corridor. I remained rooted to the spot, unsure as to what had just transpired. Several minutes passed and neither Abdullah nor another superior appeared to politely “escort” me out of the building; I began to realize my job remained intact and let out a thin sigh of relief.

There was never a time when I wasn’t conscious of being a professional, working woman in Saudi Arabia. The Middle East and its customs have received a tremendous amount of attention in the last eight years. I admit to my own curiosity and apprehension before traveling to the Kingdom, turning over in my mind myths and rumors I had heard about the strict rules and regulations imposed on women.

Though they most certainly meant well, friends and family had no shortage of opinions and (I would soon learn) erroneous or sensationalized facts about the “tragic” plight of women in the Kingdom. I was determined, however, to start my new life with a completely open mind and to learn as much about myself as well as the culture through this new experience.

I took small, calming breaths as I strode along the office corridor on my first day of work. To my surprise and relief, two young Saudi women readily greeted me, offering me cardamom coffee, a popular drink with a pungent, spicy, sweet taste, which served as a welcome pause from my early frenetic days in the Kingdom.

Dining Hall at King Faisal Specialist Hospital (Riyadh)

My Saudi male colleagues were cordial, but less familiar, tendering me gentle handshakes and steely reserves. This reception left me a bit perplexed as I was accustomed to casual greetings followed by the requisite “small talk” typical of American working environments.

In the weeks that followed, I became pleasantly surprised to notice that this seemingly restrained working relationship with my Saudi male co-workers gave way to an almost familial association; I was referred to as “sister,” which afforded me a certain level of respect. In time, even my boss, Abdullah, became a good friend and almost a brother to Bishara and me, helping us through some harrowing personal trials and perilous situations.

In my first few weeks at the hospital I found myself learning more than just my new job; the aspects of work I had taken for granted in the U.S. suddenly became completely novel. Professional etiquette, for instance, took on a whole different meaning in this new workplace, and I had to relearn a diverse set of protocol just to fit in.

At times, I found myself treading lightly around cultural and traditional roles for women and men and the appropriate interactions between the two. If I were one of a couple of women at a meeting with a predominance of men in attendance there was no particular code of behavior; I felt comfortable sitting where I liked and freely expressing myself. Women, particularly Western expatriates, were also allowed more informality when interacting about work-related issues on a one-on-one basis with a Saudi male workmate.

It was important, however, that the discussion center on work and not track into the personal realm. On other occasions, such as the time when we welcomed a new Director of the Finance Group or when a collection of men and women in a conference room celebrated the retirement of a fellow colleague, tradition dictated that women and men remain segregated.

It was during these instances that I found myself making a conscious effort to respect the customs of my host country. There were moments when I instinctively felt like walking over to a Saudi male co-worker clustered with other male cohorts on the far side of the room to discuss a particular professional matter, and I had to pull myself back. During these occasions, I felt particularly nostalgic for the easy circulation between my male and female workmates in the U.S.

My role as supervisor to Arab men, including Saudi and Lebanese nationals, also required some mental adjustments on my part, leaving me more than a little curious and anxious.

Similar to my workplace persona I assumed in the States, I felt it important to convey through my statements and actions that I was a team player and a professional. If there were issues with my Arab male subordinates having a female American boss, these sentiments were left unexpressed verbally or otherwise.

My male Saudi teammate, Saad, was smart and exceedingly polite and respectful. Our working association evolved into the more traditional supervisor/subordinate relationship, making it less familial than the working relationship I shared with my Saudi male peers outside of my group. I also contended with the matter of my Lebanese subordinate, who had worked for a couple of prominent American companies in the U.S., and regularly solicited Abdullah for my job. Fortunately, I’d encountered a similar situation several years earlier with an ambitious subordinate when I was a finance manager with a U.S. government agency.

The responsibilities and complexities of management seem to transcend cultural or gender divides. In both instances, I found myself focusing on promoting a balance between the team effort concept, and maintaining clear lines of authority.

In addition to the inherent “ups and downs” in any workplace there were some obvious differences between America and Riyadh, such as their Saturday to Wednesday workweek, the laws that restricted women driving to work (or elsewhere for that matter), and the scent of bakhour (incense) wafting along the halls.

Other, less transparent, customs left me slightly bewildered. I quickly learned, for instance, of the male Saudi habit to let doors close behind them, regardless of who trailed, as they stepped briskly through the halls of the hospital complex. In time I realized that even women did not hold doors open for each other.

My husband explained that Saudis presumably wished to avoid any gestures possibly construed as flirtatious or inappropriate. Ironically, though I regularly asked men in the States to step through a doorway before me in an effort to reinforce the notion of gender equality, I found myself missing this common western courtesy when moving through the corridors of KFSH.

Another practice I learned to quickly incorporate was using the phrase, “inshallah,” or “if God wills,” into my daily speech in both social and professional settings. Expatriates learn of this neologism within days of arriving in the Kingdom. “Inshallah” follows many expressed thoughts, wishes, queries, and responses. The phrase is so common it becomes entrenched in the vernacular of the ordinary expatriate.

“Can we meet today at 1:00?” “Inshallah,” comes the response. Or, “Do you think we can have that report finished by the end of the day?” Without hesitation, the reply is “inshallah.” One day when my husband and I were rushing back to work after a medical appointment, we found ourselves in the middle of a crowded elevator.

The elevator stopped on the second floor and a gentleman outside asked if the elevator was going up; several of us responded automatically, “inshallah.” It wasn’t long before I found myself saying “inshallah” in meetings or in the course of workplace conversation.

Despite my sometimes steep learning curve in becoming acclimated to my new place of employment, the days slipped by rather quickly until I could hardly remember my daily routine working in the States. Though my schedule had a similar rhythm of deadlines and meetings, the work hours were enjoyably punctuated with gratifying moments of downtime– not the same kind of grab-a-cup-of-coffee-and-stand-around-watching-our-watches-chatting kind of moments I knew too well from my own and friends’ professional experiences.

Arab corporate culture allows you, encourages you in fact, to take time out of your day to devote to connecting with one another on a more convivial level. Usually this happens, I discovered to my ample enjoyment, over soothing mint tea or cardamom coffee served with dates or Arabic sweet pastries.

Coming from a corporate environment less concerned with this aspect of professional development, I failed to realize how vital it is to truly slow down in the course of the day until I worked on my first large project for the hospital a couple of months into my contract.

In January, 2001, the team I supervised became responsible for a new automated budgeting process. Despite the frantic pace and frustrations intrinsic in implementing any new process, it was rare for a day to pass without being offered Arabic coffee.

One afternoon, my head buried in a stack of reports and my thoughts distracted by a presentation looming the following day, a female Saudi co-worker popped her head through my office doorway.

“Michele,” she called. “Please come by my desk, I made some mint tea this morning that I would like to share with you.”

My first impulse was to decline: there were final preparations for my big financial presentation the following morning; how would I be able to finish everything with this impingement on my critical work time? However, I understood the importance of human interaction in the Arab workplace, and I knew that refusing this sort of invitation was considered rude.

I summoned a smile and reluctantly followed my colleague to her partitioned office. As I stepped inside, I encountered another woman already seated in the corner, dressed in typical hospital attire for Saudi women: a long skirt that fell below the ankles, her blouse positioned high on the neck, a black scarf adorning her head, and a long white lab coat completing the ensemble.

I barely had a moment to find my own cup when the women broke into animated banter. Conversation about our current financial project was interspersed with more casual talk about their children’s schooling or what the housekeeper might prepare for dinner that evening.

The chitchat and aromatic mint tea lulled me, as it would do in the future, into an appreciation of this particular instant in time; I realized that there were life issues just as, if not more, important as the tasks at hand in the daily work grind.

I was finding I had much to learn in this exotic and fascinating land; my fist days and months of employment at King Faisal Hospital had been an “eye opening” experience teaching me not only about the importance of “people time” in the workplace, but about a culture and lifestyle that had been built upon centuries of tradition and customs.

. . . Part Two will follow!

Related articles

• Janadriyah Festival and Hajj Eid in Riyadh (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• Shopping, The Great Leveller (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• First Ramadan in Saudi Arabia (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• Rules of Gender Socializing (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• An American Woman in Saudi Arabia (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• The Highlands of Saudi Arabia: Unexpected Delights in Abha (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• Where’s My Home? ~ First Impressions of Saudi Arabia (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• The Road from Washington to Riyadh (Part Three) (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• The Road from Washington to Riyadh (Part Two) (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• The Road from Washington to Riyadh (Part One)  (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• Desert Trips and Barbecues (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• Pampered Pooches in Arab Lands (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)

Wonders of Turkey: Old Antalya (Kaleici)

My initial research on where we should go when on holiday in Turkey revealed what seemed like endless opportunities.  Although Turkey is less than a tenth the size of the U.S., it is a relatively large nation in the greater Middle East region with an intriguing history and rich culture.  Sites to visit ranged from Pamukkale in southwestern Aegean Turkey with its hot springs feeding calcium-laden terraces (cotton castles); to Mount Nemrut in southeastern Turkey where in 62 BC King Antiochus constructed a tomb surrounded by Greek and Iranian god statues reaching 30 feet; to Cappadocia in central Turkey (Nevsehir Province) with its fairy-like chimneys fashioned from volcanic stone, and cave dwellings and monasteries built into rock cliffs.

View of Mediterranean & Taurus Mountains from Antalya

Following our two remarkable days in Istanbul, which included a whirlwind tour of various Byzantine and Ottoman historical sites such as the Topkapi Palace, Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque, we chose to focus on Turkey’s Mediterranean coast.  We would begin in Antalya, a popular tourist destination on the southwestern coast of Turkey, where we would stay for a day, rent a car and travel west along the Mediterranean shoreline to Kas, a cheerful, picturesque town, and then onto Selcuk and Ephesus.

Our one hour and fifteen minute flight from Istanbul to Antalya on Turkish Airlines was uneventful, other than the nearly two hour delay on the tarmac in Istanbul.  (We were told that there were 24 flights ahead of us waiting to take off.)  Good time for a “cat nap” and a bit of reading.  The stewards on the flight were great, very accommodating and happy that we were enjoying our visit to Turkey.  We were impressed and thankful to see Turtas rental car representatives eagerly awaiting our arrival at the Antalya airport – (although heavily used for tourist traffic the airport is on the small side and very manageable).  The representatives helped us program our GPS, very important in Turkey, as most road signage is in Turkish, and it is easy to become lost in the maze of cobblestone streets in the small towns and old districts of larger cities.

Hadrian’s Gate (Old Antalya)

As we made our way from the airport, the cityscape of Antalya proper came into view, and once within the city it wasn’t long before we spotted Hadrian’s Gate, (built in honor of the Roman Emperor Hadrian), the Fluted Minaret (Yivli Minare), and stone cut walls and structures affirming that we had reached Kaleici (“Old Antalya”).  Our boutique hotel, the Mediterra Art Hotel, was off of a cobblestone street in the middle of Antalya’s historic district.  Simple, yet clean and very quaint, the Mediterra Art Hotel, had a European feel to it and due to its prime location offered a host of opportunities for viewing the sites of this celebrated town.

Mediterra Art Hotel in Kaleici

Our first night we ambled around the immediate vicinity of our hotel, sans map, to get a lay of the land, and were treated to a Turkish hamam (bathhouse), which are prevalent throughout Turkey, and were greeted by locals and tourists alike on the streets and from open windows of a restaurant bar where music beckoned.  Although tempted by the festivities, we resisted and decided to make it an early night, as we wanted to fully enjoy this attractive city in daylight hours.  Before bedding down, we had a delightful dinner at our cozy hotel restaurant furnished with four unpretentious wooden tables inside and four outside by the pool.  The red house wine served as a savory complement to our cheese roll pastries, salad daubed with olive oil and pomegranate dressing, and lamb over rice with vegetables.

Turkish Hamam in Antalya, Turkey

Dinner at Medeterra Art Hotel

Indications are that present day Antalya was founded in 3^rd century BC and early on was part of ancient Rome, later falling under Byzantine, Seljuk Turkish (the Persian poet, Rumi, was among this tribe) and Ottoman rule.  As a result of its illustrious and varied past, old Antalya abounds with an amalgam of historical sites that range from the Hidirlik Tower (built during the Roman Empire), to the Ottoman clock tower and the Kesik Minare (first a Roman temple, then a Byzantine church, and finally a mosque).  Antalya, is a preferred vacation spot not only due to its rich history, but also by virtue of its location, nestled between the Mediterranean sea and the impressive Taurus mountains.  Bishara and I would only have half a day in this appealing town before departing for Kas, so we looked forward to packing in as many of the sights, and as much of the local culture, as possible.

Kesik Minare (Antalya, Turkey)

After a hearty breakfast at our hotel that included an assortment of cheeses, bread and rose jam, black and green olives, mortadella-type cold meats, and soft boiled eggs, we were off to experience the allure of Kaleici.  It was early April, and we were fortunate to be met with Mediterranean temperatures in the high 60s, sunny skies and a meager number of tourists, as we were visiting at a non-peak time of the year.  Since we were limited to only a few hours in old Antalya, we decided to simply wander along the town’s alleyways and cobblestone streets to obtain a flavor of the place.  Restored Ottoman homes, with traditional second story bay windows and wooden windowpanes and shutters, were a prominent feature of historic Kaleici, often serving as hotels, restaurants/bars, and curio shops for vacation goers.  Gates of exquisite boutique hotels opened up to courtyards where poolside brunches were underway beneath massive orange and olive trees.  Bishara and I made sure to visit the cliffs to the west of town where we were enthralled by magnificent views of the Mediterranean sea and Yat Limani harbor.  We enjoyed sweet, flavorful Turkish coffee at Mermerli restaurant atop the craggy bluffs, and marveled at the snowcapped mountains in the distance and aqua blue sea below where boats were docked at piers and bikini clad women soaked up the rays on a nearby beach.

Restored Ottoman houses.

Courtyard of boutique hotel. (Antalya)

View from Mermerli Restaurant.

Mediterranean Sea with Taurus Mountains in background.

We had far too little time in Antalya, but looked forward to our drive to the charming Mediterranean town of Kas, approximately three hours away.

. . . To Be Continued!

Related articles:

• Wonders of Turkey: Topkapi Palace and Blue Mosque (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• Wonders of Turkey: Hagia Sophia and Covered Bazaar (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• Wonders of Turkey: Whirling Dervishes and Turkish Baths (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)

Janadriyah Festival and Hajj Eid in Riyadh

This continues the series of posts on our expatriate life in Saudi Arabia (from late 2000 to mid-2004) through a compilation of e-mails and notes.  This e-mail relates our experiences at Riyadah’s Janadriyah Festival, as well as time spent with a Saudi family during the Hajj Eid (Eid al-Adha) holiday in 2002.  In Qatar, Eid al-Adha will begin this Friday, October 26, 2012. 

___________________________________________________________

E-Mail (to friends and family): March 14, 2002

Hello Everybody,

We hope this message finds you all well!  We continue to be quite busy here in Riyadh, both with regard to work and our extracurricular activities outside of work.

We had the good fortune to attend the Saudi Janadriyah festival in late January, (held once a year in Riyadh), which was absolutely incredible!  The Janadriyah festival is a major cultural event that incorporates the Kingdom’s heritage with displays of dance, art, poetry and uncommon craftsmanship.  We arrived at the festival around 10:30 AM and stayed until close to 2:00 PM, and were still not able to cover it all! After parking the car, we heard drumming and chanting from the festival grounds, and I definitely had to track down the location of the mysterious and exotic sounds. It was coming from a walled-in courtyard, and after Bishara boosted me up to look over the wall, I could see it was a large group of Saudi men, dressed in traditional and elaborate garb, swords in hand, chanting and dancing to the drumbeat while waving their swords. It was amazing!

Sword Dance at Janadriyah Festival (Riyadh, Saudi Arabia)

The men were performing a Saudi Arabian “sword dance” (ardha).  The sword dance is the national dance with its origins in the Najd region (includes Riyadh) of Saudi Arabia, and oftentimes includes poetry singing or narration.  We rounded the corner as quickly as we could to the entrance of the courtyard and were treated to a most wonderful and unique experience. It was remarkable how similar the drumming, chanting, and dancing were to American Indian pow-wows we’ve seen in Montana.  (Since I am a quarter Blackfeet American Indian this parallel was intriguing.)  Men swayed back and forth, shoulder to shoulder, chanting and holding swords, while a couple of other men beat on drums, and another one or two performed a spirited dance.

Another area of the festival grounds contained exhibits and Saudi artisans crafting their wares – intricately designed Saudi doors, sandals, baskets, children’s toys, knives, pastries, and such.  A couple of gentlemen solemnly sat on plastic chairs painting Arabian-style landscapes on canvasses.  Massive structures displayed the rooms of traditional Saudi homes in existence for the last several centuries. . . . And, at every turn, Saudi gentleman offered cardamom coffee, (popular in Gulf Arab countries), which westerners like us were instructed to drink with our right hand.  At one point we had a cup of citrus fruit, from what looked like an oversized lemon(about 20 times the size of the type of lemon we’re used to) – possibly a shaddock. So delicious! Later on in the morning we entered a tent where men in thobes and ghuttras sat on red carpets with geometric designs around an open pit (for boiling coffee), while one of the men played a small guitar-type instrument (a rababa) and crooned an ancestral Saudi song.

Love the Saudi doors!

Janadriyah Festival

Traditional Saudi Home (Janadriyah Festival)

Coffee or Tea?

Playing the rababa!

In another area of the expansive grounds there was a display of an historic village/souk, with a multitude of Saudi crafts and traditional food (mainly lamb and rice, or kapsa)!  In the middle of the exposition a large enclosed area held groups of visitors sitting on substantial red carpets, with Saudi gentlemen serving their guests fragrant cardamom coffee.  At the edges of the festival, children were invited to ride camels with colorful and fancy saddles. . . . And the animals on display were not limited to camels; goats roamed freely amongst the camels, and a zoo with a variety of animals was a favorite of children roaming the grounds with their families.  As I said, we didn’t have time to see everything – and there was so very much to see – there were many, many sections of the festival on what looked to be around 100 acres!  We look forward to going again next year and plan to go much earlier to ensure that we see all that there is to see.

Janadriyah Festival (Riyadh)

During the Hajj Eid (Eid al-Adha, or “feast of sacrifice”) holiday, in late February, we were invited by a Saudi family we know to spend the day at a chalet in the outskirts of Riyadh.  Like the month of Ramadan, and Ramadan Eid, the Hajj Eid shifts by 10 or 11 days each year due to the lunar-based Hijri calendar.  On this Eid al-Adha we met the Saudi family at their home shortly after noontime, and followed them, caravan style, (with five cars in total), to the chalet.  A large outdoor courtyard area surrounded an inviting pool, while the interior contained a spacious sitting area, ample kitchen and bedroom . After settling in with coffee, sweet mint tea and an assortment of nuts, (Bishara and I were sitting outside with the mother while many of the younger children splashed in the pool), we were called into the sitting room for the Eid feast! My goodness, such a unique and memorable experience! We all sat on the floor atop a beautiful carpet with a mammoth plate in the middle that contained rice and an entire sheep, (including the head), which had been cooked underground for hours. The tradition is to eat this meal with your hands, which Bishara and I did along with our hosts.  (Salad had also been prepared as a side dish.) The family made sure that we ate some of the most “choice sections of the meat and the organs,” including the liver – it was all positively delicious!

Just before heading out for our Hajj Eid feast. (Riyadh, Saudi Arabia)

Our Feast

Dancing during Hajj Eid

After the dinner, which began at around 2:30 PM and and lasted for an hour, we sat chatting for a while, sipping tea and eating desert pastries, and then, one by one, most of us began dropping off for a nap on the floor or on couches. After naptime we retired outside to the courtyard on a large carpet with tea and a small snack of miniature pizzas and small fatayers (cheese and zahter wrapped in pita bread). It didn’t take long for Bishara to take out his derbekki (drum), and for the sisters to put on some Arabic music we had brought.  We were all up on our feet in short order,singing and dancing. Much fun! The day’s festivities ended at around 8:00 PM, as several of us had to work the next day. We had a fabulous day! Otherwise, we have greatly enjoyed social occasions with our expatriate friends here in Riyadh, where there is always much warm conversation, as well as belly dancing and drum playing (by Bishara), of course.

All the best to you and your families!! . . . And, remember to keep in touch! It’s wonderful to hear from our family and friends back home!

Warm regards,

Michele, Bishara, and Mish Mish & Callie (our pooches)

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Wonders of Turkey: Whirling Dervishes and Turkish Baths

It was late March and our second, and final full afternoon, in Istanbul, a city which definitely lived up to the expectations placed on it.  We had been enchanted by the Topkapi Palace, Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, Grand Bazaar, and amalgam of Byzantine and Ottoman cultural and architectural influences in the two short days we had scheduled in this alluring city.  On this day we would be treated to mesmerizing whirling dervishes, as well as explore an illustrious and historic Turkish bath (hammam).

Whirling dervish performance in Doha, Qatar.

When my husband, Bishara, and I decided to buy tickets for the Mevlevi Sema Whirling Dervish show in Istanbul’s Old City, I imagined we would see an entertaining performance of men spinning in long flowing garments rather than the formal spiritual and religious ceremony we were fortunate to witness in person.  As we had done throughout our stay in Istanbul we decided to walk, map in hand, to the Hodjapasha Cultural Center where the whirling dervishes of Istanbul would be performing.  We had been told by the accommodating staff at our boutique hotel, the Ottoman Imperial, that the easiest route would be a 25 minute walk following the tram line to the Cultural Center.

Tram Line in Istanbul

We liked the idea of walking, allowing us another opportunity to absorb as much of the tapestry of this beguiling city, as possible.  Along the way we encountered quaint cafes teeming with romance and life – white tablecloths over tables for two, couples whispering in each other’s ears, soft candlelight, and Ottoman-style lanterns; as well as the pervasive stalls with vendors selling roasted chestnuts, a sentimental favorite of Bishara’s that remind him of his childhood in Jordan and Lebanon, and corn on the cob.

Bishara couldn’t resist the roasted chestnuts!

We stumbled upon the Hodjapasha Cultural Center in a narrow backstreet nestled among a cluster of Ottoman-style shops and cafes near the Sirkeci tram stop.  The Cultural Center, a converted 550 year old Turkish bath that serviced both men and women, was built in the 1470’s by Hodja Sinan Pasha a vizier to Sultan Mehmed II.  The structure remained a hamam until 1988.

Earlier in the day when walking from the Grand Covered Bazaar, which contains over 3,000 shops with everything from jewelry to colorful ceramic dishware, towards our hotel we discovered another Turkish bath, the Cagaloglu Hammam, built in 1741.  There are around 100 Turkish baths in Istanbul, scattered along many of the city’s crowded streets and alleyways, from smaller neighborhood establishments to those found in five star hotels.  The concept of the public bath made popular by the Romans, and established for  maintaining cleanliness (and later doubling as a social gathering place), was passed along to the Byzantines of the Eastern Roman Empire centered in Constantinople and, ultimately, to the Turkish people.

Entrance to Cagaloglu Hammam.

Sidewalk advertisement.

As is the tradition with most Turkish baths, Cagaloglu Hammam offers separate services and entrances for men and women, and a hearty body scrub, massage, and hair washing by assistants.  Visitors lay on hot slabs of marble in steam-filled rooms, and although given a piece of cloth (pestemal) as a wrap, must be comfortable with baring themselves in front of others.  I settled for simply taking photos, as I am definitely on the reserved side.  Although the service at Cagaloglu has received mixed reviews, the hamam is the oldest Turkish bath in service today, and harkens back to the days when Ottomans lounged luxuriously on its marble platforms while being scrubbed by attendants.  The Cagaloglu Hammam appeared as a backdrop in the film, “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom,” and the hamam’s brochure claims its guests have included the likes of Tony Curtis, Chevy Chase, Cameron Diaz, and Kaiser Wilhelm II.

Inside Cagaloglu Hammam.

Hammam in Ottoman Era.

Scrubbing and bathing in Hammam.

Turkish Sultans (displayed in corridor of Hammam).

Later in the evening at the the Hodjapasha Cultural Center with its stone cut archways and intricate geometric designs, architecture reminiscent of its days as an Ottoman bathhouse, we were offered refreshments, sodas, sour cherry juice (a popular Turkish drink that I love), and Turkish delights.  Just before 7:30 PM an announcement was made that the performance would begin and a reminder given that no photography or applause was allowed during the whirling dervish ceremony.  We were ushered into a room with seating in the round under a high domed ceiling, a side platform for the musicians, and a circular marble floor where the dervishes would perform their ceremony.  The Mevleviye were established in 1273 in Konya, Turkey and during the Ottoman era their numbers expanded throughout the region.  The Whirling Dervishes of the Mevlevi Order (Mevlana is “our leader”) are named after Jelaleddin Rumi (1207 – 1273), a Persian poet and a follower of Sufism, which promotes cleansing of the soul through freeing oneself of bad habits and personal desires, leading ultimately to a closer relationship with God.  The Mevlana and Mevlevi Order achieve this through the Sema Ceremony, which incorporates elaborate music and chanting, the dervishes, and a sacred journey from the mind and ego to love and unity with the divine.  Just as the universe and our world is based on revolving motion – from our solar system, to blood and oxygen circulating in our bodies, to the most basic element of our world, the atom, the spiritual state is attained through the whirling of the dervishes.

Mevlevi dervishes in 1887. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Bishara and I took our assigned places in a fully packed room, where layered brick formed more imposing archways and a hushed silence seemed to belie a heightened level of expectation.  The ceremony, which continues today as a cultural heritage performance, began with five men, the Mutrip (members of the Sema band), in black robes and long felt cone-like hats soberly entering the room, bowing, and walking, one by one, to a small elevated stage. The Mutrip is comprised of musicians who play the kudum (small kettledrum), ney (reed flute), yayli tambur (long necked stringed instrument with a bow), and kanun (lap harp or zither).  The unique musical repertoire (ayin), which incorporates chanting of poetry and religious passages, accompanies the dervishes in their whirling dance.  Rumi is reported to have said, “In listening to music, the soul leaves its normal orbit and enters higher spheres.”

Whirling Dervishes (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Fifteen minutes into the music I caught sight of the first dervish entering the room.  Somber and reserved, the lead dervish was followed by four more dervishes all dressed in black cloaks and the same long felt hats worn by the Mutrip band members.  One of the men carried a red sheepskin, which was placed on the floor near where the dervishes would perform, symbolizing birth and existence.  The men hung their heads and moved piously single file into the room.  Removing their black robes (signifying an awakening to the truth) revealed the dervishes long billowing white frocks.  Reaching the center of the stage, with arms crossed over their chests and hands over opposite shoulders, the dervishes began to turn around one by one, beginning with the lead dervish, and bowing to the dervish behind them.  After the first dervish completed his bow he began twirling counter-clockwise on his own axis and around the circular arena, with the others following, symbolizing the spin of the earth and the solar system.  Each dervish, in turn, released his arms gracefully from his torso with his right hand open in front of him and his left hand, palm down, behind him.  I learned later from an artisan in the small mountain village of Sirince, (near Ephesus, Turkey), who crafted the felt hats worn by the dervishes, that the uplifted right arm symbolized reaching upwards to the divine, while the left arm directed to the earth projected a spiritual gift for those observing the Sema ceremony.  The dervishes continued spinning, each producing seamlessly smooth motions, while in a prayerful, meditative type of trance.  Throughout much of the ceremony, an alternating dervish remained twirling in the center of the circle of spinning dervishes, with eyes of the remaining four trained on the central dervish.

Mutrip Band (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Whirling dervishes of Mevlevi Order, bowing during the Sema ceremony at Chicago Turkish Festival. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The dervishes followed a ritualized pattern of twirling for close to fifteen minutes, when they gradually slowed the velocity of their exquisite spins until their arms were, again, criss-crossed against their chests with hands over their shoulders, and when at rest with heads hung low, began solemnly bowing, once more, to each other.  Following the bowing sequence, the lead dervish, launched into a fresh slow twirl, releasing his arms into the air with his counterparts following suit.  And the cycle of twirling and bowing would continue for another three quarters of an hour, all the while accompanied by the Matrip’s musical repertoire.  With each spin, dervishes abandon more of their human egoism, and move closer to ultimate truth, love, and a union with the divine.  The end of the ceremony saw one of the dervishes collect the red sheepskin, kiss it, and each dervish, one after the other, back out of the room, bowing before exiting.  The Matrip members did the same; one by one the cloaked musicians backed out of the room, and bowed before leaving the arena.

Bishara and I left the ceremony chattering away about the captivating performance and our newfound knowledge of the Whirling Dervishes.  Although the charming Ottoman-style restaurants beckoned us during the chilly walk back to the Ottoman Hotel Imperial, our hotel’s Matbah restaurant was a bigger draw; we just could not pass on the warm hospitality and luxurious cuisine fashioned after meals served to sultans of the Ottoman period.  Of course, we were not disappointed.

Related articles:

• Wonders of Turkey: Topkapi Palace and Blue Mosque (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• Wonders of Turkey: Hagia Sophia and Covered Bazaar (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• Wonders of Turkey: Old Antalya (Kaleici) (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)

Shopping, The Great Leveller

I originally published this article in Woman Today, January 2009.

Gatherings of women enveloped in black moved effortlessly along the corridors while children darted around their purposeful steps.  Men in white flowing robes and ghuttras clutched the handbags of their wives while they combed through the maze of ladies’ shops and shoe stores set in amongst Starbucks, Saks 5^th Avenue, and Tiffany’s.  For me, images of life in the Middle East conjured up vast marketplaces and merchant stalls flush with clothes, jewelry, and artifacts; I hardly anticipated shopping at an upscale, western-style mall only two days after arriving in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, from Washington, DC in late 2000.  My husband, a Lebanese national, and I were barely acquainted with our new life abroad when a friendly work colleague offered to introduce us to the many mall shopping opportunities available in the capital.  I was initially skeptical; I had certainly seen my share of American malls, but this colleague assured me that mall shopping in Riyadh was a very unique experience.  The words “unique experience” piqued my interest.  As a naturally curious expatriate with a propensity towards indulging in new endeavors, I agreed, allowing our guide to lead us through a dizzying tour of some incredibly upscale, couture stores.

Villagio Mall (Doha, Qatar)

The ceaseless whirring of cash registers following us from store to store indicated that these shoppers could afford their extravagant acquisitions.  In the Kingdom, “mall shopping” takes its pattern from western models with endless square footage devoted to stores that offer a range of apparel, jewelry, shoes, housewares, and electronics or specialty products for the discriminating consumer.  In the U.S., the ubiquitous mall ranges from low cost to high-end stores or those that blend the two, providing offerings for nearly every socioeconomic group.

In 2004 we relocated to Doha where I was similarly astonished by the quantity of malls with their exquisite shops and recreational opportunities.  Young adults and children glided around the ice skating rink at City Center and families slid along in gondolas down the Venetian-style canal of Villagio Mall.  (Note: Villagio Mall was recently closed due to a tragic fire.)  An American expatriate, Katita, living in Doha shared her wonder at these spectacles:  “When my family and I first shopped at Landmark Mall, I was so surprised to see this beautiful mall with all of its western type stores with everything from Chanel perfume to Swatch watches.  My favorite was the supermarket at one end, which all the malls have. Talk about ‘One Stop Shopping.’

Katita Wilmot

On my assorted shopping jaunts, I myself have observed that mall expeditions in Qatar seem to offer socializing experiences similar to the U.S.  Young people frequent City Center, Villagio, and Landmark where they gather to fraternize and mingle much in the same way that American youths spend entire afternoons casually roaming the mall and meeting with friends.  However, in Doha local young men and women are segregated; likewise, only families are permitted in the malls of Riyadh, which curbs anxieties about loitering single men.

I quickly noticed that Qatar malls were more than spaces of commerce or places to enjoy leisure activities; they were locations where  women could revel in displaying their fine apparel and carefully styled hair and makeup.  Throngs of Arab women, a portion in beautifully adorned abayes, embroidered with fine, gold thread, meander in the corridors between stores, punctuating groups of western women wearing the latest couture styles.  It amused me to think of these women as living models, competing with the array of clothes and high fashion on display.

“The Pearl” in Doha provides abundant upscale shopping opportunities.

In America, the trek to the mall is treated less as a prized social outing or special occasion and more as a utilitarian activity; men and women hardly dress with formal intent, preferring instead to don comfortable jeans, shorts, or baseball caps and tennis shoes.   For U.S. citizens, mall outings are first and foremost consumer excursions: Americans are bombarded with an array of discount opportunities and urged to take advantage of these savings by using their credit cards or opening new charge accounts at any given store.  When my husband and I first arrived in Riyadh, I was stupefied at the reliance on cold, hard cash.  The credit cards we eagerly acquired through our employer remained unused in my purse and my husband’s wallet.  In America we had become conditioned to witnessing consumers using their VISA card to pay for a two dollar McDonald’s food order.  In Doha, the credit card we obtained upon arrival debited expenditures immediately from our bank account leaving us free from the financial shackles that unbridled reliance on credit can create.  What a novel concept for an American; buy only what you can afford!

Souk Al-Waqif (Doha, Qatar)

Souk-time!

The grandeur of many of the malls in the Arabian Peninsula initially left me nonplussed, incredulous over the seemingly unending supply of designer goods.  Shopping in western culture is closely associated with the woman as consumer, perpetuating the perception that all women love to wander the aisles, voraciously spending as they shuttle from shop to shop.  While I never fell into this stereotypical role, I did become particularly intrigued with the opportunity to expand my shopping experience and visit a traditional Arab souk.  Arab souks, I would find, were veritable hodgepodges of intricate alleys and pathways housing shops sitting shoulder to shoulder bursting with exotic wares.  Riyadh, known for its lavish malls, luxurious chandelier shops, and abundant fresh fish markets (due to the proximity of the Red Sea and Arabian Gulf), is also noted for its teeming souks such as Bat-Ha, the Kuwaiti souk, and Dira, one of the oldest traditional souks in the city.

Tablahs (Arabic drums) at Souk ~ Doha, Qatar

Ouds (Arabic Guitars)

The tapestry of souk shopping is tightly interwoven with the art of bargaining, which is not only accepted, but widely expected.  On my inaugural visit to Dira, two venerable and wrinkled men bartered for ancient daggers and swords in a remote corner of the souk, leaving me rooted to the spot, unable to turn away for fear of missing a moment of these charged and fascinating negotiations. Similar scenes are common across the patchwork of shops, laden with fierce exchanges of fluttering arms and pitched voices between customer and vender who haggle over the cost of a pair of sandals or a sheesha pipe.  Bargaining is not purely a male prerogative; women regularly practice their gamesmanship at reducing the ante for several meters of silk fabric or intricately adorned handbags.  While I am commonly taken aback by the swift and heated dickering, my husband is quite proficient at the craft of bargaining; it must be either “in the blood” or honed by years of practice growing up in Lebanon and Jordan.  Bargaining is not typically an accepted practice in typical U.S. stores with their set inventories, fixed prices, and company budget constraints.  However, after living in the Middle East for the last eight years, we have found some success with bargaining in the U.S.  Just two summers ago, my husband and I visited Lowe’s home department store where we practiced our haggling skills to secure lower prices on garden furniture for our new home.  Surprisingly, I even recently found myself successfully bargaining at Hamad hospital in Doha for a lower price to acquire medical records.

Vegetable souk in Qatar.

Like Riyadh, Doha has a multitude of souks. Some contain a wide assortment of goods and others cater to a specific clientele, such as the gold souk, livestock souk, fish market, or computer souk.  The Al-Shabrah market, with its immeasurable quantities of vegetables, fruits, and eclectic mix of people, takes the concept of a U.S. “farmer’s market” to another level. Al-Najmah is devoted primarily to household goods and hardware; it is informally reserved for men, making me feel a little like an intruder when my husband and I visit.  As a newcomer to Doha, I was excited to experience Souk Al-Waqif, “the new, old souk,” a mass of shops brimming with nearly every good imaginable.  The scent of incense infiltrates the winding alleyways, and the crush of women and their children in tow makes for a frenetic and spirited atmosphere.  Older men in turbans expertly propel wheelbarrows in the narrow channels of the souk, and the doughy smell of cardboard thin saj bread wafts around you as it sizzles on large flat half-dome heating elements suspended over wood blocks.  Scattered amongst the hearty chaos are Arab men of all ages sitting on plastic chairs in small alleys; plumes of smoke rising from their sheesha pipes as they sip aromatic cardamom coffee and mint tea, conversing with one another about the day’s events.

Ros Cutts

“I eagerly looked forward to my first experience of souk shopping, and it did not disappoint me,” remarked a British expatriate friend, Ros, of her first souk experience. “Wandering around the slender passageways of Souq Al-Waqif I was introduced to the blended smell of spices, and stalls filled with rolls of colorful fabric waiting to be tailored into dresses and other garments. I was fascinated by the collection of falcons and falcon paraphernalia available in a small courtyard area.”  Ros continued, “Leaving with visions of Lawrence of Arabia I was somewhat startled to find western-style restaurants and coffee chains dotted in between the traditional craft stalls and Arabic-style restaurants.  It seems a shame to have not preserved the original architecture and to have allowed western food outlets to open in the souk.” She paused in retelling this and asked with a laugh, “Perhaps I’m just old fashioned?  In any case, I enjoyed my shopping experience at the souk and look forward to using my spices and returning to sample some of the delicious looking food from a traditional Arabic restaurant.”

On one of our initial trips to the Souk Al-Waqif I had been taking my time to saunter along the streets, exploring the varied vendors and their wares when I heard a throaty voice at my shoulder. “Marhaba, bedak chai aw qahwa?”  Realizing the voice did not belong to my husband, I turned to find a smiling old man, nodding his head vigorously and offering something in his map-creased hand.  I realized he was offering my husband and me mint tea.  I thought it odd at first, even mildly invasive, and I hesitated thinking that he was trying to get me to buy something I didn’t want. However, I learned that this was customary and realized that this type of tradition made the souk experience unique, much more than simply an excursion.  Souks by nature, rhythm, and flow encourage its patrons to slow down and immerse themselves in a kind of cultural shopping rather than simply surrendering to the shopping culture as many do in U.S. malls and stores.

Pam Weissen

My Scottish expatriate friend, Pam, also expressed how she favored souk shopping:  “My children love and look forward to visiting the souks. They save up their pocket money and love to spend on Arabic souvenirs and have bought everything from camel ornaments, to perfume pots, to musical instruments!  The Arab shopkeepers are so warm and friendly especially to the children and whether they buy or just look, I find them patient and kind.  The boys also love a bit of a barter which is always in good spirit.  I also feel that my children are safe and we can walk around and truly relax without the worries of the West, i.e., uptight shopkeepers and the concern that someone will snatch our children.  In contrast, if  I look round and can’t find my youngest, no doubt some shopkeeper will be chatting with him, or as happened the other day, an old lady in a veil, seeing my anxiety, smiled and pointed to another shop to let me know that he was there – a really nice gesture.”

Living in the Middle East has afforded me the freedom and singular opportunity to not only shop for the practical new dress at the mall, but to also “shop” for new experiences at the souk.  Happily, I am never a disappointed consumer in either place.

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• Rules of Gender Socializing (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
• An American Woman in Saudi Arabia (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
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First Ramadan in Saudi Arabia

This continues the series of posts on our expatriate life in Saudi Arabia (from late 2000 to mid-2004) through a compilation of e-mails and notes.  With Ramadan likely starting this Friday, July 20^th, this e-mail recounts my first Ramadan in Saudi Arabia in December 2000.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

E-Mail:  December 20, 2000

Hello Everybody!!

Bishara and I continue to have a wonderful time here in the Kingdom!  To start with, the weather could not be more beautiful; it has been sunny with highs in the 70’s and lows in the lower 60’s for the last several weeks – and this is the end of December. Now, of course we’ll pay for this magnificent weather in the summer when it can reach 120 plus.  But, remember, it’s a dry heat, as they say.

We finalized the purchase of a Jeep Cherokee last week, and have very much enjoyed the additional freedom and flexibility it has provided. We plan to join a caravan of other interested parties in early January and make a trek out to the desert to a place called “the edge of the world.” We understand that at this site there is a massive cliff from which there are stupendous views of the desert. We can’t wait!

It is currently Ramadan, which is one of the holiest times for Muslims. Ramadan started on 11/27/00 and will end on 12/26/00.  Ramadan occurs during the ninth month of the Hijri (Islamic calendar), and begins when the crescent moon is first sighted.  (Since the Hijri calendar is lunar-based, the month of Ramadan shifts by 10 or 11 days each year.)  During Ramadan, Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset, and expatriates, (like ourselves), are asked to respect this holy time by not eating or drinking in public during the fasting hours. (At King Faisal Specialist Hospital where we work, however, there are two cafeterias that are open for expatriates who comprise a significant portion of the hospital staff.)  Ramadan is not only a time to refrain from eating during daylight hours, but is also an occasion to exercise self-restraint and sacrifice, and to purify body and soul.

Atop the Sahara Hotel for Iftar Meal (Riyadh, Saudi Arabia)

The daily fast during Ramadan is broken at sundown with an Iftar feast. The feast, enjoyed by gatherings of family members and friends, traditionally begins with cardamom coffee and dates and moves on to sumptuous Arabic dishes. We were lucky enough to attend an Iftar feast recently atop the Sahara Airport Hotel in a restaurant with a panoramic view of the surrounding desert. The views were breathtaking and the meal was unbelievable. There was no end to the food being served, much of which was Lebanese-style, actually, including hommous, babaghanoush, tabouli, fattoush, ful medames (fava bean dish), and so much more.  Absolutely delicious!

There was a massive platter of lamb, “mandi,” originating from the Yemen and now popular in the Arab Gulf, and broader region, which is prepared by first digging a hole in the ground, or building a mud cone, and then burning wood within the enclosure.  When the fire turns to embers the meat is hung over the hot ashes and the hole is sealed.  The oxygen is consumed within 30 minutes, however, the residual heat continues to cook the meat for around 90 minutes.  We had never tasted such tender lamb!

. . . And Bishara, the Lebanese culinary expert, says that the tabouli was the best he had ever had!

Time to eat!

After dinner, we entered a large tent (majless) adjacent to the restaurant where diners enjoyed sheesha, a fruit flavored tobacco smoked from a Middle Eastern water pipe.  During Ramadan, day turns to night and night to day! Several nights ago, for example, we were at a mall after 1:00 AM. Most malls are open until 2:00 or 3:00 AM during Ramadan. We plan to attend another Iftar feast this weekend at the home of a very gracious Saudi couple who work at the hospital.

Smoking sheesha after Iftar meal.

For the holidays we will be attending a Christmas dinner with some wonderful Polish and Canadian “expats” we have met.  We can’t tell you how nice the people are here; there is an extra special closeness that develops among expatriates who are all so far away from home! We are also working on putting together a small New Year’s Eve “get together” with our newly formed friends. For those of you who know our “darling pooches,” Mish Mish and Callie, they are very much enjoying the attention of the “expats” here who had to leave their pups at home. “Our girls” were recently groomed and are looking gorgeous. Mish Mish and Callie will soon be even happier when we move to a location called the Diplomatic Quarter (DQ). The DQ is where the embassies are located along with residences, restaurants, and retail stores for the occupants of the area. It is an approximately five mile by five mile area that has palm tree lined streets, lovely gardens at every turn, and trails where we can walk our “little ones.” We have brought Mish Mish and Callie to the DQ often for walks and they love it!

Me & Pups in Diplomatic Quarter (Riyadh)

Happy, happy holidays!! Please stay in touch and let us know how you’re doing!!

Best regards,

Michele, Bishara, Mish Mish, and Callie

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• An American Woman in Saudi Arabia (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
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• Where’s My Home? ~ First Impressions of Saudi Arabia (arabianmusings.wordpress.com)
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