Picking Neem Leaves = Two Months Pay

This is absurd. A poor [literally] imported TCN* worker picks Neem leaves for a sick friend who cannot afford to go to a clinic for traditional medical care and he gets fined 750 SAR [$201.00]. How many Neem leaves could he have possibly picked? He didn’t actually dig up the tree for goodness sake. The Powers that Be, here, have imposed a fine which is probably two entire months salary for this worker who has come here to make a living for his family in a country where he can’t and now he must give up one-sixth of his yearly income. Disheartening. And just plain wrong. On the bright side, at least he was not punished by having his right hand cut off.

*Third Country National who does a job involving manual labor – one that no “local” would ever consider – for wages that are so low they are barely survivable.

Beer

I watched Unfaithful and The General's Daughter on MBC 2 a couple of nights ago. The television shows and movies that air on this channel are broadcast in English with Arabic sub-titles. That the Arabic, written in pronounced white or black, covers the entire bottom portion of whatever it is you’re watching is, at first, quite annoying. You learn to live with the pesky subtitles – there is no choice. Conversely all of the commercials are in Arabic and the ONLY programming without sub-titles; it is only the occasional word thrown in, for which I’m guessing there is no apparent Arabic translation, that you hear in English.

It was during one of the movies that I saw commercial where four men were cavorting and dancing together – in a semi-break-dancing-cum-rap-style – each of them clutching a bottled beverage in their hand. Odd, you think, that four men would be dancing together with no women? No, not in this culture – here in The Sandbox, anyway – where sexes are separated and men “party” together at one place and women at another. In a country where you see grown men holding hands as they walk the malls in long white dresses, four men dancing just doesn’t seem all that particular.

Instead, it was the beverage that was being advertised that I found odd. There must not be an Arabic translation for Moussy [the non-alcoholic beer], and this is what piqued my attention. [Click on the link to see a commercial showing men in thobes AND women in haute beach couture*!]

“Hmmph. Imagine that.” Not realizing, then, that our satellite programming is transmitted from Dubai, I found myself trying to rationalize** how a country that arrested 433 people and jailed and lashed 20 of them for partying could allow such a controversial promotion to air! Such audacity!!! [Sputter, sputter.] The young men in the ad should be jailed immediately, and as for the women – oh my oh my oh my! [Do your own Google search to find out what happens to women who defy Sharia law.]

Moussy is available for sale on shelves in most of the grocery stores; just the “light” variety; the “dark” version was removed from ALL grocery store shelves in this area of the Eastern Province a few years ago. Rumor has it that The Powers that Be found out that “we” could get wasted chugging dark Moussy’s, which contain only the slightest trace amount of alcohol, and poof! Gone. Just like that, the dark Moussy vanished.

It is true. The “rumor” is dispelled, here: “’Nonalcoholic’ beverages still contain some alcohol, because it’s difficult and prohibitively expensive to get every single bit of it out. In order to be called nonalcoholic under federal laws, a beverage can contain up to half a percent of alcohol by volume. (Something with no alcohol at all is called alcohol-free.) So people who are forbidden to drink alcohol, like devout Muslims, can’t partake in so-called nonalcoholic beer and wine. It takes about 10 nonalcoholic malt beverages to equal the alcohol in one American-style lager, says George Reisch, a veteran brewer with Anheuser-Busch and the former brewmaster of O’Doul’s.”***

Huh? Wait a second! That said “people who are forbidden to drink alcohol” shouldn’t even drink the “Non-Alcoholic Beers.” Oh, never mind. It’s all too hypocritical for me to even attempt to decipher. I’m not saying that there aren’t any very, very strict and staunch followers of Islam who have never strayed from their edicts. I’m just saying that I know for a fact, having witnessed with my own two eyes, quite a few “locals” who choose to throw caution to the wind and party like it's 1999. Dotsson, a fellow Saudi blogger, confirms that assertion and says, “Getting alcohol is not that hard of a problem if you know the right people but finding a place to drink that alcohol is a pain . . . The alcohol ban is not working so why don’t they just go ahead and open up pubs???”


*Very, very “haram.” Both the consumption of alcoholic beverages AND mixing of sexes in public! Although perfectly normal behavior in most of the rest of the civilized world including in Middle Eastern countries such as Bahrain and the UAE, this behavior is completely unacceptable in The Sandbox.

**Rationalize? No such thing. This is a totally “LFZ.” [Logic Free Zone]

***Oh My Gosh! What a hoot “bladder busting” contests would be with non-alcoholic beer!!!

Smile! You're On Candid Camera.

An Information Technology Crime Law was approved this week which will make “infringement of privacy by misusing [a] phone camera [a crime] punishable by one-year imprisonment and/or SR500,000 fine.” Not a piddling little amount, there! 500,000 Saudi Riyals is the equivalent of $134,048.25. The penalty for “hacking a web site” will be the same as misusing a “phone camera” under the new law. As well “a person who establishes a website for terrorist organizations or publishes anything facilitating contracts between leaders of terror organizations or advocating their ideologies” will be given a prison term of no more than 10 years and/or fined up to SR5,000,000 [$1,340,482.57].

Just a few short years ago, camera phones were banned in The Sandbox by the Commission for Promoting Virtue and Preventing Vice amid concerns that “wicked people might misuse the device.” Consider the word “B A N,” its anagram is “N A B.” And, as is human nature, as soon as there is a “ban” on something the first thing you are wont to do is “nab” whatever that item is. [Random House Unabridged Dictionary’s third definition for the word “nab” is: to snatch or steal.] That, of course, is exactly what happened, everyone wanted to “nab” one and the banned camera phones were selling like hot cakes despite the intensified crackdown of the “Powers That Be” to eliminate them. Customs authorities encouraged employees to seize the “camera-equipped mobile phones” rewarding them with prizes and incentives for confiscating the phones as they entered the Country. In December of 2004, the ban on camera phone was overturned.

Miscreants abound and the camera phones continue to spark controversy. These sordid little digital and technological wonders are often the scourge in situations that escalate to fisticuffs. Camera phones have caused a fight at a nursery school, have been the subject of complaints by parents at girls’ schools, and are frequently the reason that chaos and brawls erupt at women-only parties. It is not uncommon to read newspaper accounts of weddings where a camera phone leads to a bride punching one of her guests for taking a photo, or a scuffle at a wedding so violent that guests were hospitalized, or of a group of women that transformed a wedding into a "wrestling arena" where five police cars were called to the scene, or of this wedding involving more than twenty women fighting that also required police intervention. In one instance, a Tribal punishment was issued at a wedding and the father of the girl caught taking photos was fined! One groom, distraught over the “improper” attire women had worn to his engagement party, included on the wedding invitation the following: "Warning, camera cell phones inside the wedding hall."

According to at least one account women are refusing to attend parties and wedding celebrations “fearing [that] other guests may use a cell phone camera … to take their pictures and distribute the images over the Internet.” My gosh. The horror that this must instill! Unimaginable. Um Abdul Rahman states, “My friend got divorced because her picture was circulated on e-mails. Her picture was taken inside a wedding hall in Jeddah. Her husband blamed her for the incident and divorced her.” As good a reason to initiate a divorce as any other reason, I guess [not!]. After ten years of marriage and five children, the fact that this man's wife owned a camera phone resulted in their divorce. One marriage was never even consummated when the prospective groom learned that a relative of his bride-to-be snuck a camera phone into the ceremony and took photos.

Occasionally the camera phones truly have been misused by “wicked people” with evidence of misdeeds being recorded and stored on their mobiles. In July of 2003, two young Saudi men were arrested for orchestrating and filming a sexual assault on a 17-year old girl by a Nigerian driver. In January of 2005, the three men involved, dubbed the Panda gang were sentenced: The main defendant to 12 years of imprisonment and 1,200 lashes, his compatriot received a prison term of two years and 200 lashes, and the driver [who actually appeared in the film] received a sentence of 6 years imprisonment and 600 lashes.

Regardless of stiff punishments and laws to discourage camera phone misuse, several months later a video clip of two Saudi girls being harassed by four young men triggered public outrage. The four men were indicted for sexual harassment after confessing that they did not know the girls before the incident and that they deliberately distributed the video clip of the incident using both the Internet and Bluetooth.

Whether the new law will serve to deter misuse of camera phones, along with its other intended purposes, remains to be seen – and as the law is only a couple of days old it is too soon to pass judgment. If the system – or complete lack thereof – by which traffic laws are enforced in The Sandbox are any indication as to how the Information Technology Crime Law will be enforced, reports of camera phones being used by “wicked people” will remain status quo.

Hiatus

Yep. Still. Yeah, it’s been a long one. Perhaps one of these days I can get back to some semi-serious blogging. With regrets and apologies…

First there was the firing of the houseboy and no help [how in the heck do people with real jobs and lives do it?!?], then a six-week leave to the states, which was immediately succeeded by a trip to Vienna, then the Holidays, followed by a month-long visit from my parents to our little hacienda in The Sandbox, and then a three-week trip to Buffalo, New York and Raleigh, North Carolina.

I’m home for the next few days and then off again – I’m already packing – for a week-long island vacation where I plan to lay on the beach [in the rain! it is cyclone season where we’re going!!!] and read Atlas Shrugged.

Perhaps I can return to this spot regularly in March. And there is only one thing that will prevent me from doing so. A move. To a different house – here – in The Sandbox – that has a pool! If that does happen then I am going to have to learn to get used to using my husband’s laptop if I am going to ever blog again [which I absolutely hate using!], as I will be reverting to a past profession – that of professional tanner.

Hey, oncologists need jobs, too…

Maid for Abuse

Large metropolitan newspapers list sub-categories for employment in their classified sections: Administrative, Construction, Education, Health Care, Legal, etc., and our two English newspapers here in the Eastern Province of Saudi Arabia, Arab News and The Saudi Gazette, both have a “Classified” section, albeit, on a much smaller scale than the typical American paper. The Saudi Gazette’s classified section does not appear anywhere on their Internet version; the Arab News can be found on-line and their classified section consists of sections for the categories of “Jobs, Matrimonial, For Sale, Miscellaneous, Swap, Cargo and Announcement.” However, jobs are not listed categorically and today there was no “help wanted” listing for a maid. There was an ad for another domestic situation which, really, given the fact that women in this Country cannot drive, makes fulfilling this position a “necessity” in The Sandbox – and that is for the hiring of a driver:

Required a family driver (Filipino/Indonesian) to work in Riyadh with a Saudi family. Candidate should know Riyadh area very well. Will be offered good salary. Suitable candidates contact Mobile: 0555555555.*

Is finding a maid for abuse something that is done through an agency or some sort of networking? There is a question to which the answer may remain, for me, elusive, in that I will never have a maid. Yes, currently, I have a houseboy who comes for four hours, three times a week to assist me in cleaning, but all of the “stuff” that is routine and day-to-day, i.e., laundry, ironing, dishes, make the bed, etc., is done by me.

The employer, or sponsor, whose son responded to the allegations made by this maid has, of course, denied them. [Yeah, I know. And, yes, I’m as surprised as you are!] It would certainly be quite rare indeed if there is a single, reported case where the employer or sponsor of an abused maid actually admitted it. Just one… Apparently, the son, deems it worthy to note, regarding the maid's claim that she has been abused, that she had “only been with them for a month and a half.” [This will be an integral component used to the benefit of the abusing party – not THE abused – in any official action that might be brought before the Ministry of Labor and Social Affairs. Such mitigating circumstances all but guarantee a judgment in favor of the defendant(s).]

Someone help me out here if I’m wrong on this, but is there a minimum length of time that a maid has to be with a family before the abuse “officially” begins? Is the first six weeks – or month and a half – of employment as a domestic servant considered a “grace period?” If so, somebody should have shared that little caveat with Fatima! But that would, of course, explain Rosie's saga, because, after all she was a maid here for seven months when AFTER being summoned by the police her male employer admitted abusing her. Oh, pardon. My mistake. I was unaware of this instance in which a husband took responsibility for his wife’s abuse of the maid although it isn’t quite the same as admitting the abuse, is it?

*The telephone number, for obvious reasons, has been changed. Do, however, notice that the Nationality of the wanted driver has been specified. Try to imagine an employer doing something like this in the United States - unfathomable! The ACLU and every one of its related agencies, no matter how remotely associated, would be stumbling over each other during the race to file a lawsuit in the nearest Courthouse. Yes, things are just a bit different here, in The Sandbox…

Look What I Got

This is a first. I’m putting this day on the calendar and will celebrate it like a holiday from here on in. I guess the trick to getting Victoria’s Secret catalogs is to order only one little item so that it is sent to me via mail in an envelope versus being sent in a box via UPS.

Because I don’t want to be polluting the oh so fragile minds of the adolescent males of this society I am not going to photocopy blown-up size pages of the most risqué lingerie and post them on light poles and palm trees, but I want to! Of course it would defeat the purpose to do this on our compound – it would be so much better if I could do this downtown – perhaps leaving several photos like these which are almost pornographic on the windshields of all the cars parked illegally. That, however, would be a humongous endeavor – even if I targeted only the cars at the Rashid Mall.

Copycat Hanging

Hmmph. File this one under “my how things have changed since the olden days.” Probably most of us can recall at some point when we were young and gave it our best effort to copy some action or actions that we had seen a parent or other admired adult-figure do. That’s part of growing up, isn’t it? And, that’s how you learn some of the lessons that prepare you for life.

Granted, back in those days there were no video games, the extent of the violence I can recall from television was purely “G” rated “slapstick” and likely done on a Monkee’s episode or on Gilligan’s Island; I cannot recall a single episode of Lassie that contained any violence, slapstick or otherwise [some injury or sadness, perhaps, but not violence]. No one had a computer in their home, the Internet was an infant, and certainly You Tube wasn’t even a remote idea.

Who would have thought, that several years [decades!?!] later, the combination of home computers, the Internet and You Tube would produce a generation of copycats that try their own version of stunts they first see on Jackass or that a 12-year old would hang himself to copy Saddam Hussein? This boy is not the first; according to today’s article in Arab News, FOUR youngsters have successfully demonstrated expert plagiarism skills, if that was their intent.

Copying test answers or the dust-jacket of a book for a book report, without getting caught, would have been more than adequate. Not to make light of the fact that three young boys and a teenaged girl have met their demise, it is just sad that the degree of violence saturated in today’s world of video games, television programs and movies, and the internet has hardened us in such a way that our reaction to an incident of this nature is “Oh, gee, isn’t that too bad.”

Hey, You With the Magic Marker! You Missed One!!!

Lucky is one of my favorite magazines. It is a virtual monthly smorgasbord of colored, slick glossy pages inundated with photo after photo of the newest shoe, bag and clothing styles. Unlike all the other fashion magazines on the newsstands, Lucky is specifically geared to whet the appetite and hone the senses of true shopalcoholics!

In a prior life, my old life, the one I had before we moved to The Sandbox, I knew I could depend on one day a month that I would leave the office after a long day, head home and be able to kick off my stilettos and curl up in a chair with a glass of wine and the newest monthly edition of Lucky. Truly this was one of life’s simple pleasures. Not anymore.

In my new life… I no longer spend my days at an office, can curl up in a chair anytime I want, sans glass of wine [yeah, right!], and peruse my monthly copy of Lucky at my leisure – or so one would think – but I am “lucky” if I receive my magazine on a monthly basis – heck, I’d be happy if I received it on a semi-monthly basis – quarterly, even! But I don’t, so at this point I have canceled my subscription. I am not going to pay the international cost of a periodical that I cannot receive regularly – instead, paying an astronomical amount to receive something that otherwise I would have no way of obtaining in The Sandbox, but ultimately paying for something that others are enjoying at my expense.

The entire frustration encompasses much more than my receiving only sporadic issues of a MONTHLY periodical – and I do not blame the publisher – as I would be willing to wager a bet that my subscription was being sent to me on a timely basis, and monthly, as well. The blame, as far as I am concerned, for my NOT receiving regular monthly delivery has to be placed squarely on the shoulders of the Powers that Be [“TPTB”] here in The Sandbox who not only choose to keep every other or every two issues of Lucky but deface and destroy the occasional magazine they allow me to have.

Page after page after page has been laboriously colored with a dark blue magic marker by TPTB to ensure that the pureness of my mind and thoughts are not contaminated or titillated by any little amount of bare skin showing on the models on the pages of my magazine. Or perhaps, to ensure that my DH does not catch so much as a mere glimpse of cleavage or too much thigh if he walks behind me as I am flipping through the pages. [I am of the opinion that when the day comes that I find my DH standing over my shoulder as I slowly turn the pages of this fashion magazine I need to confront a problem much larger than the thought of him glancing at the models showing a bit of skin!]

Certainly if there appeared to be any amount of consistency, then I would know to expect that certain pages are going to be deemed to risqué for my eyes, but instead the “coloring” is obviously done at random: On one page the cleavage is colored – on the next it is not; on one page the thigh is colored and on the next it isn’t. Is there something about the one knee of the model in this photo on the right, that it is not colored but her other leg is – as are both legs of the model next to her? And, is it really necessary to use a marker so dense then it has to bleed through the pages?!?

Worse, still, is when the pages are torn out of the magazine – and not even neatly so that this would go unnoticed! Not just a page, but a couple pages at a time, even… You can count on this happening with ALL of the magazines, here, not just a select few!

I have yet to purchase ANY magazine that pages have not been removed for some unknown reason – regardless of the genre – and as “Murphy’s Law” would have it, whatever article you have started reading – the one you most wanted to read – has been continued and is gone because it is on ONE OF THE PAGES THAT HAS BEEN REMOVED!!! – or you find a recipe in a food and decorating magazine – it looks delicious – the ingredients are all listed but when you turn to page umpteen the cooking instructions are NOT there because there was something that TPTB determined would be unacceptable for me to see and the entire page is missing.

On a whim, a couple months ago, I purchased a magazine published for local women here in Saudi, Arabia Woman. As I glanced through the pages, I thought to myself, “How odd. These models have black t-shirts on under all of these dresses, including Nicole Kidman and Miss Europe!” It was then that I realized that of course they are not wearing black t-shirts under their dresses and under these wedding gowns! Duh!!! Every photo in the magazine of a woman has her in an outfit WITH a black t-shirt which has been printed on before publishing so as to spare TPTB the work on singly and individually taking their colored magic marker to the pages.

With what is available on television through various outside means, it seems more than just a little ridiculous that somewhere in some cushy office a “local” has been charged with the responsibility of going through magazine after magazine after magazine to color the flesh of models WEARING various items of clothing… And, by my referring to a “local” having this position, my goodness! You can’t possibly think that an outsider could be entrusted with such responsibility! Oh, no. I would have to venture a guess that this is a coveted position and one of the twenty-two recently reserved that MUST be filled by only a “local” to effectuate the eventuality of Saudization. Umm, yeah. Just a guess…

Happy Belated Thanksgiving!

It’s cold, dreary and rainy in The Sandbox. Yes, it is! Unbelievable as it may sound. And this household has been extremely busy for the past couple of weeks and will likely continue to be – although there will be a lull between now and Christmas – when I am hopeful that I will have been able to get the entire Visa situation completed and that my parents will be here to visit us for three weeks!!! They currently live in upstate New York – the snow belt – where it’s been cold and snowing since before Halloween – so when I complain about how cold it is here in The Sandbox at 68 or 70 degrees – my parents have almost NO sympathy for me – none whatsoever as a matter of fact…

And perhaps 68 or 70 degrees doesn’t sound particularly cold but consider that it is about 120 degrees here almost every day for six months of the year – for it to be 50 degrees cooler is quite drastic and feels cold! Although I’m guessing that my parents will be comfortable in shorts and tee-shirts at 70 degrees when they are currently experiencing temperatures in the teens, twenties and thirties. [It was a little warmer there – in upstate New York – this past week from what I understand so it’s not quite as dreadful as they would like for us to believe it is.]

I did do a big Thanksgiving dinner here and invited quite a few people [read: men] that are here alone without their families. DH won a turkey at a golf tournament and it just seemed appropriate that we should cook it for Thanksgiving – and so I did – along with all the fixings and a six-pound prime rib! [I won’t eat any poultry – beef, pork, seafood, yes, but NO poultry!] It was nice. A lot of work. But then everyone knows how much work Thanksgiving dinner is!!! Definitely worth it. I know my efforts were sincerely appreciated by several that would not have had a Thanksgiving dinner to go to otherwise.

Another houseboy has come to try to clean and do so knowing that I have almost impossibly high expectations. He is doing okay so far. Slow. He is very, very slow. But, then I’m not paying him very much at all and I don’t think I’d work very fast for that paltry sum of money. The houseboy prior? The one who couldn’t follow simple bathroom cleaning instructions? Gone. You get three weeks to show me whether or not you can do the job. After that, time’s up. Either you can do it or you can’t. Yes, my expectations are high, but I believe with a bit of effort they can be met, and so far so good. DH is not putting any money on this one – he believes the poor man “is toast.”

There is a lot going on here in The Sandbox. We’ve had quite a few executions – well, beheadings – whatever you want to call the form of death penalty here – lately. There are quite a few more mistreated workers and there is a woman from another country that married a local and has since escaped with her children and returned home. We have had a terrible sentence handed down to a couple of rapists AND the victim – yes, the victim has been punished!!! Amazing. Just amazing. So, there is quite a bit to “blog” on and I will get going tomorrow as soon as the houseboy shows up and start putting entries together to get back into my “Stilettos.” Trust me, lately I’ve had sneakers on. Doing all that I’ve been doing around here, are you kidding? There’s no way I could have had Stilettos on!!! “Sneakers in The Sand” just doesn’t quite portray the flavor I want perceived, though. Yes. Time to put the Stilettos back on!!!

In the meantime, hopefully I’ll be able to get a full night’s sleep tonight – we had thunder and lightening all last night – and it poured. I mean poured!!! We had a pool in our front court yard this morning where we usually send the kids out to do their business. It has never, ever rained so hard for so long in the entire time we have been here. The trees were all bright green today for the first time that I can recall in a long time – they were cleaned of the gray, brown dust they are normally covered with. We, no doubt, needed the good heavy, thorough soaking we got last night.

The downside to that was the thunder and lightening. The kids absolutely hated it – The Baby especially! So we had The Boy between us – he’s about one hundred and twenty pounds – and The Baby – who’s weighing in at about fifty-seven pounds right now – thank goodness she’s almost full-grown! [She will likely not get much bigger than she is – she’ll be a year old next month.] The Baby went nuts barking and growling every time it thundered so no one slept much last night, including our neighbors. It would be good to wake up and feel refreshed tomorrow morning and get on with our routine which includes a good hour and a half walk first thing – and because of the weather lately – two days of rain!!! – we’ve been housebound, not walked and had no exercise but for chasing balls inside and playing tug with various ropes and squeaky fur toys.

So, I will plan on rising and shining [okay, maybe not exactly shining!] early, walking, getting breakfast out of the way, and as soon as the houseboy gets here will hit the computer keyboard and try to fill everyone in on the happening’s in The Sandbox of late…

A belated Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Ohmygoshyoupoorthing!

It would be inappropriate to even consider asking, “Are you alright?” The answer, being blatantly apparent, is of course, “No.”

Fatima, just another poor woman who came to The Sandbox, probably lured under nothing less than false pretenses in an effort to provide for her family back home, has been “terribly beaten” by her employer. After not paying Fatima, who was hired as the family maid, for the two [horrific AND dreadful!] months she was in The Kingdom the employer [also known as “sponsor”] kindly dropped her off at the airport with a one-way ticket, so that she could return home to Indonesia.

Thankfully, alert officials at the King Khalad [sic] airport “knew something was amiss” and contacted authorities who were able to track down the employer and who, at the time this article was written, was taken into police custody.

Whatever the kind of custody the employer was in was far too kind and lenient. Short of keeping the employer – no, make that EMPLOYERS! – in some sort of torturous bilboes / pillory / stocks combination contraption – then these EMPLOYERS [the actual “employer” and his “young wife”] were being kept in a custodial situation quite a cry above that which “they” kept Fatima. We can surmise that certainly these two employers were given considerations they never fathomed giving their maid!

Only time will tell if the new and improved “Super Maids” assuage any of the egregious acts of abuse all too commonly and routinely inflicted upon domestic help in The Sandbox. In no way, shape or form could I or would I condone any of the mistreatment employees experience whilst in the care, custody and control of their contracted and sponsoring employers. Suffice it to say however, at this stage in the game, with my first-hand comprehension as a mostly calm, rational, and reasonable woman saddled with a [very slight] perfectionist syndrome and perhaps some [very minor] “OCPD” symptoms, I could, with only the smallest, most minute provocation easily want to pummel the crap out of someone else with a broom or mop or floor cleaner. That that “someone” happened to be the domestic help who, for whatever reason, was seemingly not performing to expectations or standards as anticipated would only seem to make sense… [Just wait until you read my post about the paper delivery, the downtown grocery store and the local “Walmart.” Sadly, in my current life, Walmart is but just a fantasy…]

A few short days ago I grumbled in an e-mail to a dear friend [thanks, Marie!] that I have fired our most recent “houseboy” after giving him three [long – very, very long!] weeks of specific instruction as to what I want done and how I want it done. And, thankfully, she was all too understanding of the aforementioned “rage” that could take over one’s personality to make a “mostly calm, rational, and reasonable woman saddled with a [very slight] perfectionist syndrome and perhaps some [very minor] “OCPD” symptoms” or for that matter, any person, regardless of whether or not they possess the many wondrous qualities that I have been blessed with, want to pummel the crap out of their “domestic help” with a broom or mop or floor cleaner.

Those three weeks with our most recent houseboy consisted of real “hands on” instruction; I literally cleaned one of our three bathrooms each of those three Saturday’s that he was here to show him EXACTLY what it was I wanted. This was not a situation where I simply handed the man a can of Lysol Tub and Tile Cleaner and a roll of paper towels and said, “Go at it.” No. I did the whole, entire bathroom from start to finish – top to bottom – like I want it done, with the products I want used – to show him! A “how to” video would be less specific and could not provide as much instruction as I did, starting with:

* Spraying – frosting – the entire outside of the commode with Lysol Foaming Basin, Tub & Tile Cleaner and wiping it down with white, Scott paper towels [I’m sorry, Mom, but it really does take more than one and a half paper towels!**];

* Spraying – frosting – the entire inside of the commode – lid, seat, rim, etc., repeating the above step;

* Squirting Lysol Toilet Bowl Cleaner into the commode bowl and letting that sit while continuing on; and

* Removing all personal use items [soap, shampoo, shaving cream, razor, rubber duck, etc.] from the tub and shower area and spraying the tiled-walls with Lysol Foaming Basin, Tub & Tile Cleaner and cleaning the tile with an instrument that is a brush on one side and a “scrubbie” on the other to get all the soap scum off in between the tiles – and thoroughly rinsing the walls by throwing large plastic cups of water onto the tile starting at the top and working downward – quickly drying the tile with another dozen or so white, Scott paper towels – don’t throw these towels away – they can [and, yes, Mom, they will**] be reused; next

* Generously sprinkle Comet Cleanser with Bleach in the [ceramic] tub and let it sit; while you

* Use a “lime scale” remover product such as Cif – which used to be Jif – to spray and clean the tub and shower hardware [we have salt water – it leaves a nasty, hard residue on everything!]; and going back to the commode

* Take the toilet brush and scrub the inside of the toilet – this particular task on any “bathroom cleaning to do list” is now complete; continue on with

* Scrubbing any dirt / salt water residue off of and out of the tub with a hard sponge which is thoroughly rinsed by throwing large plastic cupfuls of water against the entire surface; and

* Then replace the personal items removed earlier, putting them into the EXACT places where they were originally located [i.e., the razor and soap go on the far corner of the tub because The Baby – who insists of keeping a very close eye on me at all times and especially as I dangerously stand in this confined “ceramic and tile area enclosed on one-side by an easily nudged aside cloth curtain and a mildew-proof plastic curtain” while hot water projects out on to me – could otherwise easily grab one of those items in her mouth!!!] – and, the rubber duck? That goes in my husband’s bathroom. It is purely for decorative purposes and thus gets replaced on the top soap shelf in the shower even though no other “built-in” soap dish is used for anything else, ever [and good grief, how many times must someone have all of this explained to them as well as shown to them before they begin to comprehend and understand and can do it right?!?];

* Take the saved, previously used to wipe the tub / shower tiles white, Scott paper towels and wipe down the baseboards of the entire bathroom;

* Spray the sink, fixtures and countertop areas with Lysol Foaming Basin, Tub & Tile Cleaner and wipe clean with additional white, Scott paper towels;

* Clean the mirrors and any other glass areas with Windex and wipe with white, Scott paper towels;

* Clean the towel racks with white, Scott paper towels onto which you spray Lysol Foaming Basin, Tub & Tile Cleaner – spraying the towel racks directly results in covering your walls with cleaning products [the walls, of course, should be cleaned seasonally – spring, summer, fall and winter – unless otherwise required depending on the amount of “Kid” slobber];

* Spray white, Scott paper towels with Windex and clean the glass of any hanging pictures or framed prints, doing the same for decorative glass and/or plastic containers of hand cream and cosmetic containers;

* Noticeable finger-prints and hand marks on white painted doors and light switches should be wiped clean; and

* The bathroom is clean but for the floor which should first be swept and / or vacuumed; then

* Using clean rags and the “red” bucket filled with “sweet water” [the drinking tap water, not the salt water] and Clorox wash the bathroom floor on your hands and knees [these areas are not large in this particular “townhouse,” if they were, then I would use the floor cleaner but it would be about impossible to try to maneuver around the toilet in this particular instance]; and finally

* Using the “white” bucket and a couple of clean rags, re-wash the floor with straight “sweet water” which fairly effectively rinses off the bleach so that if you are barefoot there is no “sticky” feeling if your feet are wet or damp as you walk across the tile floor…

Viola! The bathroom has now been cleaned, disinfected, sanitized, and shined… Simply repeat the same procedures with the other two bathrooms. Total cleaning time: approximately 45 to 50 minutes PER bathroom.

The point [which was really not to explain as best as I possibly could how to clean a bathroom] is that I did all of the above and probably more each time that the last houseboy was here – according to schedule – during the three afternoons a week he was coming. And, there is a schedule – oh, trust me, someone with a [very slight] perfectionist syndrome and perhaps some [very minor] “OCPD” issues has a schedule. The houseboy was coming three afternoons a week for three hours at a time and so I scheduled Saturday to do the three bathrooms, Monday to do the kitchen cleaning and Wednesday to do the kitchen / den / laundry room and entryway floor[s] – it’s all one big ugly gray and peach linoleum covered area divided by a couple walls and doorways – but for goodness sakes the floor cleaner basically does all of the work and the floor is ALWAYS done on Wednesdays!

After three weeks of my showing him how to do all of this – each afternoon that the new – now gone – houseboy was here we spent time together doing all of these things which in essence was me doing the cleaning while he observed my techniques for which I WAS PAYING HIM! And that picture? Umm... Oh, I know! Wrong. All wrong. Very. Wrong.

Which brings us back to how it is that a mostly calm, rational, and reasonable woman saddled with a [very slight] perfectionist syndrome and perhaps some [very minor] “OCPD” symptoms, could, with only the slightest, most minute provocation easily want to pummel the crap out of someone else with a broom or mop or floor cleaner. Because if you can’t get the “how to’s” after three very patient weeks of my showing you how, then yes, I DO want to hurt you – be it emotionally or physically or both – I want to take my frustrations of your absolutely total ineptness out on you. But, because I am such a “calm, rational and reasonable woman” I will not beat you with some heavy, sure to cause bruising and pain object. Nope. Not me. I can not and will not condone any kind of mistreatment toward the domestic help. My solution: You’re fired.

So, now, again, I am back to doing the housework myself. It’s not so bad. I am not going to lie and say “Oh cleaning the bathroom is cathartic! I look forward to cleaning the bathrooms on Saturday. Once you start, you will probably find it quite relaxing.” Yeah. Bullshit. At least the stress of not having it done to my liking, to my satisfaction and standards, and in my timeframe, isn’t causing me further inner turmoil for the time being… That is, until the next houseboy comes along.

**When I was growing up, a roll of paper towels was treated more like a commodity than a disposable product. My Mother expected that a SINGLE – or better – less – make that a HALF of a SINGLE paper towel – would be used to clean the entire downstairs of our house… And if that wasn’t enough, we were expected to let the paper towel dry out and reuse it for several more weeks.

**As far as exclusively choosing white, Scott paper towels is due to the fact that using colored paper towels might clog our septic system if we had one and we do not… [Whether this is true or not, I really am not sure – this is what we were told as children and it has stayed with me, and therefore do not use colored paper products. …] More specifically, when prints on paper towels run or bleed their color onto white surfaces cleaning efforts are doubled by now having to clean to remove “color” stains. “Scott” might want to consider giving me some sort of compensation for the promotional consideration I have extended. Or maybe not, as my first choice would be Bounty – which – naturally – cannot be found in The Sandbox; Scott is, in actuality, my second choice. The two aforementioned preferences are because sometimes when you use a lesser brand you end up with nothing more than a handful of soggy, goopy tissue… Feel the joy. My goodness, when has housekeeping – cleaning the bathroom – ever been such fun!?!

9 Out of 10 = A Lot!

Almost everyone has one. I don’t have one. But then, I’m not a “local” and thus am not allowed to have one – non-locals, generally, are not allowed to sponsor “maids.” There are, of course, exceptions. Certain professions of non-locals [i.e., physicians] qualify and may apply to sponsor a maid. For the most part, non-locals must use “houseboys.”

Of the dozen or so households that I have been to where there is a full-time, live-in maid, I’ve not been overly impressed by the work that they do. Perhaps my standards are just that much higher, but I know that I do a better job of cleaning and “keeping house.” I suppose that if my DH’s position here for some reason were to be eliminated then I could become a maid – oh, sure, it is an option that we could fall back on… [Yeah. Right. Not in this lifetime!] If I had not seen so many victims who have been imported as household help and if they were treated with just a modicum of decency and respect – oh – and paid a decent wage… Nahh. I just don’t think I could do it…

The maid’s aren’t really the ones at “fault” as far as the quality of work. A friend put much of this in perspective for me when we were discussing it one morning and she was telling me how their maid had ruined another load of laundry. I suggested that perhaps she shouldn’t have the maid do any more laundry as several “loads” have now been ruined and she explained to me that it was partly her fault as she hadn’t given much consideration to the fact that this maid is from a country where there is NO SUCH THING as a washer and dryer and in that case how could she [the maid] possibly be expected to know how to use such equipment?

Still, in a country where, for the most part, the majority of women don’t work, the fact that 9/10ths of the households here have at least one maid certainly is telling.

The Philippines will soon make available for sending to The Sandbox a “Supermaid.” I kid you not. The “Supermaid” is going to be highly trained and will be given language instruction so that they will speak whatever language the country to where they are going to be employed speaks. These maids, the new and improved version, will of course cost more and there is already some balking that “locals” are not going to want to have to pay the additional 50 or 100 Riyals it will cost for the upgrade.

This seemingly makes the “maid” a “thing” that can be upgraded with newer and better options, rather like leasing a car. You can get the bare-bones, stripped down version of a Hundai or Kia, or for a few Riyals more you can get a Lexus. Hmm... It will be interesting to follow to see how many “locals” are willing to pay the additional cost for the new, improved version – the upgraded model - the "Supermaid."

Butchering Baby Brother

There is a new movie coming out – or maybe it’s out – we don’t have movie theaters in The Sandbox so the movie won’t be playing here. [There are movie theaters an hour and a half away – across The Causeway – in Bahrain.] I recently saw a commentary on the news about the movie – Greg Boardman, who owns a movie theater in Illinois, has refused to show the movie – or “drivel” as he calls it – on the grounds that the type of person that is drawn to this genre is not the type of person he wants in his theater. The movie is Jackass Two. I never saw the first Jackass movie; and I’ve never seen the television show, Jackass.

From what little I cared to research about Jackass, the premise would appear to be basically a guy or a bunch of guys doing really stupid “someone could get hurt doing this and don’t try this at home” type of stunts. Whether the television show or either of the movies has any plot or story line at all… Who knows? Perhaps there is a Jackass fan that can enlighten me.

Unfortunately, the satellite dish, although technically illegal, has provided homes here, in The Sandbox, with unfettered access to “western” television programming. A variety of systems are available, as well as different tiers of service, depending on what it is you are willing to pay for – rather like in the States where you have “basic cable” and “premium cable” packages. Thus, Jackass may well be available on one of the satellite systems that are broadcast in The Sandbox; it certainly is not a program that this household is able to view on the very limited “basic” service we have.

How many lawsuits have been filed because some kid – a child – made an attempt at imitating some stunt that one of the Jackass’s did? I have no clue. I’m sure I remember hearing about one – and after a quick Google search I found this:

"Though this is perhaps the most unique blast against the defunct MTV series (it ran through 2000 and 2001 before Knoxville called it quits) and $60 million-making film, it is most certainly not the first. The show has been hit with other lawsuits and much criticism after teens around the country tried to replicate the dangerous stunts and bizarre practical jokes.

A New Mexico teen died in early December trying to copy a stunt in the film, and a Seattle teen suffered severe burns when imitating the TV show in November. And in 2001, several other kids were hospitalized for trying to pull off a Knoxvillian stunt, including one boy who was burned when his friends poured gas on his legs and set him on fire and two teenagers who tried to outrun a moving car. Even one of Knoxville's own pranksters, model Stephanie Hodges, broke her back and fractured her pelvis in a TV stunt gone awry."

More than one lawsuit has been filed. You’d think “kids” would know better, but apparently not. Oh – and – remember the twelve-year old boy in Florida imitating a professional wrestler that killed a six year old?

Which leads us to this:

"A 10-year-old child was about to kill his younger brother when he tried to imitate butchers slaughtering animals, Okaz reported Sunday.

He laid down his brother and pierced his jugular vein with a sharp knife. The scene of the blood pouring from his brother’s neck drove him crazy and he started screaming hysterically – which alerted his parents – who then rushed the younger brother to the King Abdul Aziz Specialist Hospital.

A team of surgeons in the hospital rushed the child into the operation to stop the bleeding by stitching the torn vein."

I am only going to partially lay blame at the feet of the parents – mother and/or father – I realize that most parents aren’t going to be watching a ten-year old child every single waking minute of that child’s day – and I think it would be unreasonable to expect that. The parents do need to shoulder part of the blame, however, for their negligence with regard to teaching their child that a knife is NOT a toy. Further, that the parents would allow an impressionable ten-year-old child to observe animals being slaughtered by the butcher is reprehensible.

I sincerely hope the younger brother is fine – or at least okay – how can you be “fine” when you’ve just had your jugular vein pierced?!? As for the older brother? I have some doubts. This child is going to need some very serious supervision! Somehow I picture this child continuing down a rather wayward path… I know if I was his neighbor I’d be keeping an extra close eye on my two four-legged “Kids” or any two-legged ones if I had them.

If this was the “West,” a lawyer would have already contacted the family. You know the type. The “ambulance chasing,” personal injury, pay nothing unless you get a settlement, dial 1-800-IAMHURT kind of attorney. A lawsuit would be filed on the grounds that the child would not have tried to “butcher his brother with a knife” if he hadn’t seen “Jackass” on television – or professional wrestling – or the butcher down the street.

After all, shouldn’t the butcher AND the knife manufacturer – or, in actuality, the insurance companies – take responsibility for this ten-year-old child’s actions by making a knife that is used to slaughter animals and for not slitting the animal’s throat behind closed doors? One doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist to deduce that butchering animals should not be done in front of a child who might glean the slightest iota of an idea that he too could do what the butcher does, and “doesn’t Mommy have a knife similar to that one at home?” Um-hmm. Immediate lawsuit.

Does this happen here, in The Sandbox? People filing [frivolous] lawsuits on a whim because they refuse to take responsibility for their own actions and believe that whatever bad happens is the fault of someone or something else? To the best of my knowledge, it is just not done here on anything remotely close to the proportion it is done in the States. Having had the unparalleled privilege of working for far too many years at a “dial 1-800-IAMHURT” firm I believe can offer my opinion in this regard as an authority on the issue. Which, of course, is not to say that lawsuits are not filed here; they are. But with an entirely different type of justice system [Sharia] coupled with the fact that insurance is a concept still in its infantile stage in The Sandbox, it is not likely that The Kingdom will be spouting billboards and television commercials touting the “1-800-IAMHURT” rationale anytime soon.

This scenario of a boy whose jugular vein has been pierced with a knife has ramifications that could have been much, much more grave if the young boy’s parents – parents as in two – Mom and Dad – were not home. Imagine for a moment what would have happened if this “let’s pretend I’m the butcher” game took place on a typical weekday: The boys are home from school and have gone off to play while Mom is sitting in front of the television watching the latest episode of her favorite soap opera. Dad is not home – he is still at work. Mom hears screaming and discovers to her horror that one of her children has blood gushing from his neck!

In ANY other country Mom simply grabs her pocketbook and the CAR KEYS and immediately rushes her child to the nearest Emergency Room. Only, here, in The Sandbox, is it haram* for Mom to drive! Uth-oh. Now what? Wait for the ambulance? Wait until DH can leave work and get home to get Mom and Boys to go to the Emergency Room? Hope one of the neighbor’s has a car and driver ready and available? And how much blood has this child now lost in the meantime?

Just food for thought… How many little children have to die before women are going to be allowed to drive in this Country? [Actually, the ten-year old son could have driven his brother to the hospital – believe it or not that would be more tolerable than letting Mom – or ANY woman – get behind the wheel.]

That there won’t be a lawsuit filed against Jackass or the World Wrestling Federation is a plus. And, unless I’m quite mistaken, there aren’t too many video games that involve butchering animals – so suing Nintendo or X-Box is out as well.

*Haram – Arabic term for “that which is strictly and specifically forbade in such a way that doing it would bring punishment in the hereafter and possibly a penalty in this life as well.”

Where is PETA?

The opportunity, or, admittedly, the desire, to try camel’s milk has yet to present itself. If the time ever comes when someone offers it to me, I will probably at least give it a taste, just so that if I ever have to say, “I don’t like it” then I can do so knowingly, because, as all mother’s have said at some point in time, “How do you know you don’t like something if you’ve never tried it?” However, as the Food and Drug Administration highly recommends that cow’s milk should be pasteurized, I might be just a bit leery of drinking a glass of fresh, unpasteurized camel’s milk.

Considering that camel’s milk has been a staple and provided sustenance for a country of people for as long as it has been, then it can’t be all bad. I have yet to hear of anyone dying after drinking camel’s milk. People are killed by camels, fairly frequently here, but not by consuming them.

There are other “camel” products here – cheese – that are quite popular among local folks, and they eat camel meat – although I have heard – and do not know this to be fact – that the first time you eat camel meat you will get quite sick. [Make my camel burger well-done and I’ll have ketchup on that, please!]

It is the month of Ramadan, here in The Sandbox, where people fast from sun-up to sun-down, when breaking their fast by eating “breakfast” or Iftar. An article in Arab News states that “for some, an Iftar without camel milk is no iftar.” There are ample opportunities for people to get their fresh camel milk prior to Iftar as one young explains.

Anyone who has read prior posts at this site knows that I am an animal lover; it is not a secret. I truly lose sleep at night worrying about homeless cats and kittens that I see on the streets in Al Khobar; I feed the stray cats around the compound and have actually been warned that I am not allowed or supposed to do so [but I just can’t help it!]. I have made full provisions for both The Boy and The Baby to be taken care of in the event something happens to me and DH. I have never seen The Lion King because I know that one of the Lion’s dies at the beginning of the movie leaving his son without a Dad…

So, what about the baby camel’s then, who are not getting the nourishment they so need as little cubs [I did not know that baby camel’s were called cubs until I read this article*]? Where is PETA? Would they approve of a camel’s teats being covered with fabric to prevent Mama Camel from nursing her little Baby Cub?

In the grand scheme of things – and knowing that in just a couple of short weeks we are going to be seeing sheep and goats hanging from trees as Muslim’s prepare for their Eid celebrations – that a little Baby Cub camel goes without a meal or two probably isn’t worth losing too much sleep over… I’m going to try not to. I just hope the little Baby Cub camel doesn’t have to go to bed hungry…


*Baby camels are not called cubs anywhere else but this article; this site says female baby camels are “heifers,” and this site says “female camels are called cows,” “males are called bulls,” castrated males are called “bullocks,” and “baby camels are called calves.” I’m just going to call all the little ones baby camels.

Diluted Ketchup

As amusing as this is, it is NOT funny. I had to do a quick Google search to find out what a jerry can is. Why would you store ketchup in a jerry can? I’ve seen ketchup come in big industrial, gallon-size containers – like those big pickle jars you see in a deli – but never in a “jerry can.”

Here’s a visual image you will not want to retain: Just how does one pee in a jerry can? No. I just am not going to think about this.

I’ll Wear the Shorts

This just isn’t right. I don’t know if “Gym Attire Seen as Latest Attempt to Force Shari'a in US” is necessarily an attempt to force the United States to accept Shari’a law or not. I am not going to “debate” that aspect of the article. I am angry about the complete lack of any attempt whatsoever made for assimilation or integration of different cultures, Muslim and Islamic or any other culture and/or ethnic group, in the United States. Efforts to do so by any number of minorities appear to be totally, thoroughly null and void. Conversely, if an American makes a decision to move to another country, with the exception of some European countries, assimilation into that country’s culture is not only anticipated but expected and in some instances required.

In the country I currently reside, yes, certainly, by choice – well sort of – I am required to not only respect the culture and customs but to adopt many of the same norms and traditions that are an integral element of the lifestyle. Doing so is not an option. I do not get to make the decision based on what would be normal and customary ways of life for Americans in the United States. It is implicit that the code and manner of how one must conduct oneself will be governed by The Sandbox’s long-established beliefs and principles.

Why isn’t this something, then, that the United States requires? Apparently “assimilation” is one-sided. And that is my argument. I cannot wear shorts, here, just to run and do a quick errand on the compound where we live without being scolded by Security. However, Americans in the United States are expected to bend over backwards to accommodate the wants of every other culture in the world regardless of the fact that other countries offer absolutely no compromise to Americans or others who may be guests.

What irks me even more is that, per the article, local middle and high schools are going to have their policies reviewed to make sure they are accommodating the religious needs of Muslim students during Ramadan and Eid and throughout the school year. No. Whoa. Hold up, right there! This needs to be further explained. There are laws that separate church from state and state, here, being PUBLIC schools.

What, exactly, is this going to entail? That a Muslim student, celebrating Ramadan, gets to start classes two hours later than everyone else because he or she has been up late partaking in festivities associated with this month-long holiday? Does this student get to take the month off from school? Do classes get stopped at certain times so that a Muslim student can pray? Are certain, special foods going to be served in the cafeteria?

If one particular religion is going to be acknowledged, contrary to laws already on the books, then ALL religions are going to have to be acknowledged. Thus, by making sure PUBLIC schools are accommodating students who happen to be practicing Islam the door isn’t just going to have to be opened – it is going to have to be taken off the hinges! No? Sure it will. Once you have accommodated the religious beliefs of one faith in the PUBLIC school system, all PUBLIC schools will have to open their doors for students practicing Islam, Hinduism, Judaism, Buddhism, Confucianism, Zoroastrianism, Taoism, Scientology and Wicca – and every practicing faith in the world! What is outrageous about this is the fact that only one will be excluded. Yep. Only one… Christianity. You just watch and see…

Anna Nicole Smith Stern

This whole situation is just kinda odd. I am truly sorry that Anna Nicole has lost her son. Having a son, myself, I am sure it must just be devastating.

I was just looking at the headlines on MSN and there, again, on top, is Anna Nicole Smith – this time about the paternity of her new baby girl… I didn’t read it. Don’t care to. Have seen and heard more than enough already on the news.

Anna Nicole just recently married her long-time attorney / companion, Howard Stern – somewhere in the Bahamas or Jamaica – again, heard it on the news. Howard Stern says the baby is his. Now someone else has come forward to say that is false, that he is the father of the baby. Either way. The quickie wedding is what I’m questioning…

It has just occurred to me that the reason Anna and Howard Stern got married is so that they cannot testify against one another if, in the future, criminal charges are filed against one or the other or both, as a result of the still not all clear reason for the death of her son. Am I the only one that has given this any thought?

Ooohh. Shudder. Move along, folks. Nothing to see here.