Brainscrubber

Do you feel safe?

When I am talking to people about living and working in Saudi Arabia, that is the question I get asked more than any other. Questions about how women are treated here come in a close second; but it’s the question of safety that tends to predominate all initial conversations on the subject.

Much to the surprise of nearly everyone, I have to respond, “Yes. I feel safe.”

Now, it is true Westerners can be the target of anti-Western elements in the Middle East. Just last February, four Frenchmen were murdered in the northwestern part of the country – despite the fact they’d recently converted to Islam. These guys resided in the same compound where most of the Western employees of our company live, and several of the guys I work with knew the men. In 2003, Al-Qaeda elements launched rocket attacks against three of the residential compounds with deadly results. And, in that same year, an American contractor working for Lockheed Martin (for whom I also worked at the time) was kidnapped and beheaded. A British worker was shot and killed at a stoplight on his way home that same year, and another Westerner was killed at another stoplight in a random act of murder.

Such facts certainly are relevant when considering one’s safety in a foreign land. However, there are mitigating factors, which lessen the day-to-day concern. As a result of the 2003 compound attacks, the Kingdom of Saudia Arabia instituted a series of sweeps wherein they arrested hundreds, perhaps thousands (the real number is unknown) of known and suspected terrorists – primarily Al Qaeda members. The Kingdom also ordered concrete barricades and fences be placed around compounds, hotels, governmental and diplomatic buildings. Car searches were also implemented. It’s nearly impossible to get into one of the aforementioned facilities without having to pop the hood and the trunk so security guards or soldiers can look for bombs. “Shunta,” is a word everyone who drives into work knows, and we all dutifully pop our trunk. In most places, k-wall (movable concrete barricades) have been placed so that cars must negotiate a serpentine drive into these places, a tactic meant to slow car bombs and armed vehicles.

Failure to obey commands can (and have for a couple of folks I have known) result in several rifles, handguns, or machine guns bearing down on oneself. So, it is important to pay attention to what is being said. In cases of unclear instructions, it is best to ask again until they are understood or the guards get tired of repeating their words in broken English and simply give up, allowing the passage of the person or vehicle. Any place where a soldier is posted there are many, many guns. Usually, they carry Russian rifles or .45 handguns; however, in almost all cases, there is at least one machine gun mounted on an armored personnel carrier or within a camouflaged nest. There are several machine guns guarding the entrance to my residential compound. The guns are loaded.

Riyadh is like any other big city. Anywhere 5 million people gather, they validate Malthus. So, on the whole, living in Riyadh is like living in Las Vegas. Actually, given the gang activity in Vegas, one is probably more likely to get shot there than in Riyadh. I feel very comfortable going to the store at night; but I always park where there is light. I tend toward crowds, and I try not to stop, alone, in an isolated area. When I mentioned one specific part of the city where Westerners are told not to go, one of the Saudi guys working for me laughed and said, “Mr. Greg, I don’t even go down there.”

The greatest hostility toward Westerners tends to be in the more isolated and rural areas of the country. It’s a good idea to have a Saudi host in those places. Or, at least someone who is Arabic. A couple of years ago, while out camping, several Western and Lebanese friends were camping together when a truck full of guys showed up. They began demanding whether any Americans were in the camp. Intelligently, the Westerners had made themselves scarce, and one of the Lebanese men assured the visitors that no Americans were around. After a couple of repetitions of that assurance, the truck full of men left. But, that is the exception to the rule. On the whole, the people are incredibly nice and polite (save on the road). Many will offer a smile and a courteous greeting. Those that
don’t simply ignore your existence.

I have had two instances of hostility directed toward me since I got here. On one occasion, a Saudi guy passing me spewed a mouthful of Arabic curses at me as I walked toward a mall entrance. The other was from a Pakistani or Bangladeshi guy who stared at me with an openly hostile gaze of loathing. The meaning behind his eyes were not lost on me. Truthfully, most of the areas where Westerners fear for their safety tends to be among the Pakistani and Bangladeshi areas of town. Not coincidentally, these are the poorest areas of town, where crime is more likely to occur.

Things are a lot worse in neighboring Yemen. I met a Canadian guy on my way back from Christmas vacation. He told me that they have to travel in armed convoys in order to go anywhere. Both Al-Qaeda and Hamas have recruiting offices in the city where he works – with the Hamas office being across the street from his place of work. Two Belgian women were killed their last week. I don’t plan to work there. Nope…give me the UAE or Qatar or Bahrain…all of which are considered quite safe.

Over all, I feel as safe in Riyadh as I do in most American cities – maybe a little safer in some instances. Of course, this could change tonight. If it does, I have no problem putting in my notice and returning home. One has to be wise, aware, and vigilant. But, that is true everywhere.

Copyright 2008 by Greg Hubbard

Powered by ScribeFire.

The wind chill factor in Riyadh, currently, is 34 degrees Fahrenheit, the actual temperature being 41-F. There’s 100% humidity, and drizzle is falling from a charcoal grey sky as I write this. If I was home in Oregon, I’d be convinced snow would fall tonight. Given the first snowfall in Baghdad in 100 years only day before yesterday, I am not ruling out anything. Snow or no snow – this is truly a winter day in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

I saw snow in Oregon last month. Snow fell two days prior to Christmas Day and fell again the day following. Christmas Day at home was as dark and grey as today is here in Riyadh. Large raindrops fell as showers leisurely waltzed through the Coastal Range and made their way across the road to the Cascades, where they would dump several feet of snow before gliding over the flat, high desert area of eastern Oregon. The temperatures were too warm for snow to fall in the Willamette Valley.

Cristina cooked a turkey in her mother’s oven, forced to make stuffing with the barest dusting of sage – a near calamity in any house where I eat stuffing. Still, we suffered through our deprivation, and enjoyed a wonderful day surrounded by Cristina’s parents, our son, his fiancee, Ringo – their chihuahua/Jack Russell mix (a breeding mix that should send shivers down your spine), our granddaughter, and Skye (our Cairn Terrier). After spending last Christmas deep in the desert sands of KSA, this was like finding myself awakening in the Elysian Fields.

France’s President Sarkozy arrives in Riyadh this evening. On my way back to the compound, I saw maybe fifty police cars racing along East Ring Road, lights flashing but no sirens, peeling off two at a time to cover the exit or entry ramps. Once deployed, soldiers in their beige and brown desert fatigues took their posts and hefted their machine guns and waved the remaining traffic on down the road so they could close and clear this major freeway that runs alongside the airport where dignitaries arrive and are ferried to the Diplomatic Quarter. Today’s uniform enjoyed winter accessories – warm wool caps and thick scarves of the same material, thrown stylishly around their necks and across their shoulders. The forecast for tomorrow says that President Bush’s arrival in the capitol will be greeted with the same weather, the same traffic and security precautions, and the same attire on the soldiers.

The first day of December found me on a Lufthansa flight from Riyadh to Frankfurt (6.5 hours), a five hour layover, then a 10.5 hour flight from Frankfurt directly to Portland International. I caught a turbo-prop from Portland to Eugene and landed to find the air chill and damp. I’d worn a flannel shirt, jeans, and hiking boots home; so I was not only warm, but my garb blended so well with the local raiment that no one could have guessed I had just been in the deserts of Arabia. Cristina wrapped me in a hug so warm I found little need for a coat.

This is where blur begins. I had a solid month at home. The deep greens and faded yellows of Oregon’s forests provided the comforting backdrop for a jam-packed schedule of tasks, events, and meetings chaired by Cristina as part of the fight to prevent the Bush Administration from opening up over one million acres of public forest land to clear-cutting. There were few moments that didn’t require the accomplishment of something from a list of Christmas tasks, social requirements, or ticking off the list for our son’s and fiancee’s wedding scheduled for the 27th – only two days after Christmas. Yet, Cristina and I did manage a relaxing drive down Highway 101, skirting the frigid Oregon coast, even stopping to say, Hello, to her father, whose ashes were scattered just off Winchester Bay over twenty years ago.

Our granddaughter arrived on the 19th, and an already full calendar became even fuller. Ten-year-old girls require a lot of attention, and Julie is no exception. Despite a couple of days of sunshine, most of the days were cold and wet. A veteran of Utah winters, she simply tossed on her coat and accompanied us on our rounds. If for nothing else, her presence added some playful companionship for the two cats (Bear and Beatrice) and especially for Skye. She seemed especially to enjoy going with me to pick out the Christmas tree – a perfectly formed Noble Pine that stood about seven-feet tall.

James and Alisa arrived the weekend prior to Christmas, and it became necessary to coordinate conflicting schedules, resulting in more of a mix of Christmas with wedding, necessitating solo adventures by each of us, occasionally belying the concept of family togetherness at Holiday time. On the other hand, it felt good to venture forth alone, steering the pick-up along winding mountain roads slicked by rain and requiring me to do drive slower than normal. After nearly a year away, the beauty of the drive between town and our place reintroduced itself to me. A blend of mountains and narrow valleys, thick variegated forests and clear expanses of meadows, horses and donkeys and goats and llamas – I felt at home once again.

Christmas came and went. Cristina cooked her turkey and dressing at her parent’s, and I cooked in our huge kitchen, which I had come to miss intensely during my time away. Gifts were opened and thank yous were expressed and then it was the day after Christmas. Seemingly, just that fast.

All eyes and manner turned toward the wedding. Weddings are stressful. Anyone who has ever been involved with the planning and execution of one will attest to that fact. Couple that stress with the stress of the Holidays, and the potential for a perfect storm manifests itself. We made it through, though, mostly unscathed. A tiny, beautiful country church with clapboard siding surrounded by a stand of Douglas fir against a backdrop of a huge meadow provided the setting. Friends and family from San Diego, Arizona, Texas, and our little part of Oregon comprised the guest list. A gathering of maybe 20-25 in our forest protected home served as a warm haven for the reception. Hats off to Cristina for a magnificent job of planning and execution. I doubt she wants to do it again.

The next five days went by way too fast. Family left. Friends went home. Grandkids and kids returned from whence they came. Still Cristina and I had to fight for precious moments alone. They were difficult to find. Before we knew it, New Years Day arrived, and I had to leave. Thick, pea-soup fog enveloped us from home to the airport, almost as if I was being discouraged from boarding the plane and leaving. Unfortunately, modern technology allows for take-offs even when the visual range is nearly non-existent. So, I left the cold and wet of Oregon and returned to the cold and dry of Saudi Arabia – where the wind chill factor tonight makes me bundle up just like at home.

I sure the miss the warmth of Cristina’s embrace.

Copyright 2008 by Greg Hubbard

Powered by ScribeFire.