Are you a Briefs or Boxers Type of Guy?

Or, maybe, you’re a “sirwal” type of guy… Yes. Oh well. Never mind, then.

Who knew that in The Sandbox a man CAN BE FIRED for not wearing the proper undergarment?!?

Many [and that is way, too many, thank you] of the thobes that men wear here are quite transparent – you CAN see right through them. I, personally, have not seen one single man in a thobe who did not have his sirwals on. The only comparison I can come up with to describe a pair of sirwals is pajama bottoms. Full-length pajama bottoms. I found a pair on-line: sirwals. [They are a real deal at $8.95 a pair!]

Brings to mind that little ditty that children sing:

I see London, I see France…
I see Mohammed’s underpants.

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

Okay, so "Saudis Prefer to Have Comfortable Jobs" has absolutely nothing to do with gentlemen prefer blondes... The titles are both rather catchy, and rhymey, don’t you think? And yeah, so, okay, “rhymey” isn’t really a word that you’ll find in a dictionary, but it happened to go quite nicely with “catchy” at the moment.

Nope, don’t think the article will come as some earth shattering revelation – it’s been a known fact for sometime on this side of the world. It certainly is not nearly as earth shattering as the fact that Pluto is no longer considered one of the nine planets. This is a bit disturbing. We all have our little way of remembering the nine – make that eight – planets. “My Very Educated Mother Just Served Use Nine Pickles” has now become “My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nyquil.”

The fact that “locals” prefer “cushy” jobs was addressed earlier by one of my all time very favorite bloggers, The Religious Policeman, on April 21, 2006. You may have to search his archives to find the article, but it IS well worth reading. Sadly, Alhamedi is no longer blogging, but it is because of him I realized I needed to start my blog, that would shed some light on issues, here, in The Sandbox.

. . . Alhamedi, I hope once in a while you’re stopping by to visit, and you smile, knowing that you were the inspiration for my site!

Old and Unpaid

Some things just don’t change. Not here, anyway. I read Ladislao Reyes story and just wanted to cry – with him – for him. For 18 year Mr. Reyes has been a truck driver for Al-Shark Transport [hey, what’s in a name?]. Some five months ago he filed a complaint with the Labor Department to get back wages, his end-of-service benefits, his vacation tickets, iqama and medical expenses. Since filing his claim, not only has Mr. Reyes NOT received his salary [oh, yeah, big surprise, here!], but he has been forced to vacate his home and is now living on hand-outs from friends and fellow Filipinos. Apparently a good hearted Saudi national has taken pity on him and has now given him a place to stay – it has no amenities [i.e., electricity] – but something is better than nothing.

Mr. Reyes worked for a meager salary and has achieved his goal of putting all five of his children through college, which explains why he has worked so long past the [mandatory, which is sixty, or so I thought] retirement age.

The trucking company claims that they owe Mr. Reyes nothing and that they have documentation to prove this. Interestingly, enough, however, they did offer a settlement to Mr. Reyes during earlier negotiations, first of 10,000 Riyals and then 20,000 Riyals, provided the claim with the Labor Department would be withdrawn. Mr. Reyes has refused the settlement – from a company that supposedly owes his nothing but was willing to give him something.

The story says that there was a hearing last Saturday [August 19th], but that “for the second time” the employer did not show up. Another hearing was scheduled for yesterday [August 26th]. It is all too common that these cases before the Labor Courts drag on and on and on. Apparently the employer is not “required” to appear, and when the employer – or the employer’s representative – doesn’t appear the case just gets rescheduled.

It could be years before this case gets resolved. Let’s hope not, for Mr. Reyes sake. Quite a contrast, I’d say, to this case, which was filed on May 7, 2006, was “looked at” on May 11, 2006, and almost immediately resolved. Surely it would be preposterous to think nationality plays any part in how the Labor Department determines and issues verdicts in their cases. Oh. My. Gosh. I didn’t just type that, here, did I?!?

Locking up The Kids!

I know this has been posted at a few other sites on the Web already, but not nearly as pertinent to someone writing in the States as it is to someone writing in The Sandbox!!!

Banning the sale of dogs and cats in Saudi Arabia is only going to make it MORE dangerous than it already is for four-legged Kids. I worry every day about The Baby getting loose and not making it home – because someone out there, a local, thinks that a “black dog is evil.” I don’t know what truth there is to that – whether black dogs are really considered “evil” here, or not, but I am just not willing to chance it. I worry every day that The Boy might get loose and that some “local” will think that because he is so big he would be perfect for a dog-fighting ring. The Boy doesn’t have a fighting bone in his entire body and just the mere thought... I cringe!!! It’s much more prevalent here than you would think. Yes, the sport of Dog Fighting. This is a sport?!? It. Is. Criminal. That’s what it is! No, I will just NOT think about that, today.

Amazing that one of the reasons that the sale of dogs and cats will be banned is because the powers that be here believe they “can be vectors” of diseases which “can dangerously affect newborn babies, the elderly or persons with immune system deficiencies.” Huh? I did a Google search to find out more about what diseases dogs [did not search cats, just dogs] carry that could harm newborn babies. There is very, very little out there, and in fact, but for allergies – oh, and rabies – one canine psychologist, Kathleen Martin, has this to say:

“… health risks are minimal. It should be fine as long as the dog has had its immunizations. We can’t catch doggy diseases anyway. The only thing we can get is worms – so make sure the dog is regularly wormed.”

Wikipedia had a short entry on the subject of “elderly and dogs.” I was hoping to find something that suggested that older people who had dogs lived longer, healther lives – I know that this is true – I just can’t find a link to back me up, here. Ahh, here’s one, and here’s another. There are many, many more. I just wasn’t typing the proper words into my earlier search.

Regardless that fact upon fact upon fact will confirm that having four-legged canine kids is NOT dangerous, I, for one, will be keeping an extra close eye on The Boy and The Baby from now on – it would not be too far fetched to think that their leashes will be wrapped around my waist while we sleep. Nope, I will not be letting The Boy or The Baby out of my sight, here, ever again. [Not that I ever did to begin with, mind you, but...]

Today’s Agenda

Not exciting, really. But I do have a list of things to do. It’s a “healthy” list!

1) Post on 2,996 project.

2) Put other posts that have been written – but are not up – on Stilettos.

3) Go to library – find book on “Blogging for Dummies.” Need to learn how to post side-bars, favorites, etc.

4) Find out where shipment is – it was supposed to be here between 7A and 10A this morning. It is past 11, now…

5) Unpack and get laundry started.

6) Go to post office to make sure there is no mail.

7) Go to Commissary; the Kids are out of “breakfast” dog food and there is no more coffee!

8) Make appointment for manicure and pedicure.

9) Cancel trip to London.

10) Start diet.

I can knock off number 1 on the list.

[For your information, I tried and tried and tried… to get photos to publish on the “Boxers or Briefs” article. They would not take. No matter how small I made them – they would not “upload.” All the more reason to get that “Blogging for Dummies book at the library, today!]

The 2,996 Project

Huge kudos to blogger, D.C. Roe, who has taken on an epic endeavor – slated for unveiling on September 11, 2006. On that date, it is anticipated that 2,996 different blogs will each pay tribute to a single victim – there were 2,996 individuals – who perished in the horrifying disaster that took place almost five years ago, on September 11, 2001.

I will be posting one and celebrating the life of Yvette Nicole Moreno, a much too young [she was only twenty-five!] woman who was working as a receptionist on that fateful day… Yvette had made it out of the North Tower building, was running away, and killed by falling debris. Tragic.

The website is here. As of last night there were still 125 or so names to be assigned to bloggers.

Truly it would be wonderful to be just a bit more computer literate than I am! The library is a MUST today – to get a book along the lines of “Blogging for Dummies.” I need to learn how to post side-bars on my blog [every other blogger participating in the 2,996 project has a “link” on the side to click to show a photo of who they are writing a tribute to and how to get to the link to sign up to write a tribute – mine – nope – no clue how to do this – not a f’ing clue!], post photos in the middle of an article, and learn how to do a bunch of other “stuff” to make this blog a better blog…

Off Again...

I am very appreciative of the interest so many have shown in my blog… It’s been just over two very, very, very full weeks since I returned to The Sandbox. [Why? Why? Why? Did I fire my HouseBOY?!?] I have several items ready to post, but had to fight with “Blogger” over the weekend [our weekend is Thursday and Friday] and it would NOT let me “upload” pictures no matter what I did. Needless to say, those posts have to wait until I return.

Yes, I am off again. I am leaving in two hours to go to Vienna, Austria, for a week. I will be back in The Sandbox again next Saturday. It has been 110 degrees here – and incredibly humid – which is very odd for this time of year, for so long… It is only 72 degrees in Vienna. I have packed sweaters and my mittens! [Oh, and my umbrella – it is supposed to rain in Vienna for the next four days – sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Cold, wet…] Regardless, am planning on sight-seeing and being a “real” tourist rain or shine.

Look for new posts a week from Sunday. I’ll be back again, and posting on a daily basis.

In Shallah…*

*Means "God willing" in Arabic.

Abused Maid Paid $8,042.89

We have a winner!

“Rosie who survived seven months of torture at the hands of her sponsor and his wife” is going to be paid 30,000 Saudi Riyals [$8,042.89] in compensation. Rosie tells her story to The Saudi Gazette, and states that her “employers had subjected me to the harsh beating when I asked for my salary. The beating became a ritual and escalated when I asked the help of the mother of my woman employer.”

A [poor, or she would not have come here] young woman from the Philippines, Rosie came to Saudi this past February to work as a maid for 750 Saudi Riyals a month, or whopping $201.07 U.S. Dollars! This measly amount went unpaid, a saga all to familiar here in The Kingdom, for some six months. On August 8th Rosie received what was her last and “the worst” beating and the next day she “managed to escape and made it to the King Fahd Hospital” where her compatriots called the Philippine embassy to report her condition.

Philippine embassy welfare officer Danilo P. Flores said, “Her condition was heartbreaking. She had contusions on her head and had developed hematoma all over her body.” Flores reported the incident to Captain Fahd Saad Al-Dossari of the Udulliyah Police who investigated the case, summoned Rosie’s sponsor and “locked him up.” It is reported that Rosie’s sponsor “confessed to his crime before police and agreed to settle the case by paying Rosie seven months of unpaid salaries and other damages.”

It is in this regard that we have a winner… In the almost four years that I have been here in The Sandbox, not ONCE have I read that a sponsor has admitted to the crime of abusing domestic help. Not. Once. It goes without saying that NO ONE should have to suffer abuse at the hands of their employer, and it should go without saying that no one should go unpaid for any length of time, and certainly not for seven months.

“The embassy had initially asked for SR50,000.” “Rosie’s sponsor settled at the police station and agreed to pay SR30,000 after negotiations . . . That settlement includes SR18,000 representing 24 months worth of salaries, SR800 for the destruction of Rosie’s personal belongings, SR1,200 for air tickets back to the Philippines, and SR10,000 in blood money for the beatings.”

Broken down, the sums Rosie received for being abused by her sponsor, are:

SR50,000 – the initial amount requested – is $13,404.82 U.S. Dollars;

SR30,000 – the amount the sponsor agreed to pay – is $8,042.89 U.S. Dollars;

SR18,000 – representing two FULL years of salary – is $4,825.73 U.S. Dollars;

SR800 – for personal belongings – is $214.47 U.S. Dollars;

SR1200 – for airfare – is 321.71 U.S. Dollars; and

SR10,000 – payment of blood money – is $2,680.96 U.S. Dollars.

Colonel Al-Harbi states, “We would like to emphasize that such treatment – such abuse – will not and is not tolerated in our society. This is a warning to all employers to respect the rights of their workers.” This rhetoric has been the subject of diatribe for so long that there was never a resultant action came as no surprise. It is enlightening, to say the least, that we have come upon an official who truly means what he says. Let’s hope that someone, somewhere, seriously considers promoting Chief of Al-Ahsa Police, Colonel Ibrahim Muhammad Al-Harbi, to the head of whatever government agency oversees labor abuses and disputes!

Women's Shelters

Monday’s Arab News puts “the spotlight once again on the increasing number of incidents involving abused women.” Perhaps it is true that the number of such incidents is increasing, but I am more inclined to think that the abuse has always existed and is only now coming out of the proverbial closet. Kudos and thanks go to Rania Al-Baz, a former announcer at a Saudi television station, who suffered a brutal attack at the hands of her husband – an attack and beating so horrendous Miss Al-Baz was unrecognizable. Raina Al-Baz’s story was followed by Arab News, in a heretofore unprecedented public milieu, from the beginning to the end.

Purportedly over the weekend a woman escaped from a Riyadh hospital and made her way to a shelter in Jeddah. According to the article, had she not made it to the shelter she was afraid the police would return her to her abusive family, which is not an uncommon dilemma for abused women. The article says, “Even after they have escaped, the usual “option” presented to them [abused women] is to return to their abusers.” [If this is the “usual” option, it really rather negates the point of escaping.]

“Thinking that their ordeal will be over once they are in the shelter, these women are subjected to further insults and neglect.” [This is ONE of the options? Not the “usual” option, outlined above.] “Their problems are not solved and they are more often pressured to return to the place they escaped from,” a social worker pointed out. [The “usual” option, above.]

“The shelter should be able to provide women with psychological treatment, social support and empowerment programs…” The supervising charitable organization consulted an expert who suggested help in this regard but the government entity chose instead to implement “its own plans that are bureaucratic, unsympathetic and not supportive of women.” Due to the “unyielding and inflexible procedures, many women who came to the shelter were eventually returned to the very places where they had been abused.” Amazingly, a case is cited where a “woman who had been sexually assaulted by her brother and then escaped . . . was then returned to the care of her brother for lack of evidence.”

According to the director of the women’s department at the Ministry of Social Affairs, Nora Al-Asheikh, “if there are no obvious signs of physical or psychological abuse, the woman is returned to her family because some of these women are falsely accusing their family of abuse to escape strict rules.” Fortunately, despite the many shortcomings these shelters have, “If there is evidence of abuse, the woman is cared for.”

Home: Heat, Humidity, Flooding, Rat Turds

Oh, yeah… It’s soooo good to be home!

Savannah was nice. Savannah is actually very nice. It is a beautiful old city with plenty to do and I thoroughly enjoyed myself every day of the seven I was there. My husband was there for some company business three weeks prior to my joining him, and continued working the entire time I was there. So I amused myself and found plenty to do. Even the one afternoon it rained I sat in the hotel bar met lots of nice people, including an employee named Elena from Russia who I have decided would make a wonderful wife for my son if it should happen to not work out with the young lady he is currently involved with [who he loved dearly until I told him that I actually liked her!]. I shopped; I explored the old tree and moss lined streets with the beautiful stately homes [mansions!]. I ate – way too much – but all the good things I’ve missed while here in The Sandbox – the very first night – baby back ribs! They were absolutely fabulous. And I drank. There are probably a few bottles of Sterling Cabernet left in Savannah in some of the more remote stores and restaurants, but when we left there was none left in the immediate “downtown” vicinity. Savannah’s weather was absolutely perfect [but for the one rainy afternoon – and it didn’t even start to rain until I put my bathing suit on to head to the pool – but of course…], in the upper-80’s, low-90’s every day, some humidity, but not unbearable.

After my husband was done with company business we headed to Buffalo where my parents are. They are actually outside of Buffalo, in the very western part of the state in a teeny, tiny little town which is only on the map during the summer, right on Lake Chautauqua. It is a summer “resort” area and come Labor Day, the sidewalks are all rolled up and put away until the following Memorial Day. How my parents have lived there year-round for so many years amazes me. Upstate New York in the winter – which lasts for a full seven months – is utterly dreadful. Cold, gray, dreary. Depressing. It snows every single day. It is called “lake effect” snow. Call it whatever you want; it still needs shoveled – plowed – and it’s still cold. Very cold! So, we had a perfect five days there and took advantage of the beautiful summer weather. I laid on the dock and worked on my tan and my husband worked on the golf course chasing a little white ball around [no, I don’t play – I tried – it takes “hand-eye” coordination and I have zero]. We visited with other family members; played catch-up with an aunt and a cousin I’ve not seen in almost twenty years. We spent a glorious day at Niagra Falls on the Canadian side, and really, this should be included in one of the Seven Wonders of the World and it isn’t.

From Buffalo we headed to Maryland where one of my sister’s and her family live. It was here that for the first time in sixteen years – yes, sixteen years – that my ENTIRE family – all nineteen of us – got together for a family picture. There have been many, many family gatherings in the past sixteen years, but someone has always been missing for some reason or another. I hope my parents aren’t too disappointed with us all – there are four of us – children – and along with our respective spouses we only produced nine grandchildren for them – and if my brother’s wife wouldn’t have had twins then there would be only eight. My Dad’s sister has twice that many, and his brother has twice that many plus some more. We aren’t a very big family…

After a few days in Maryland we finally headed to what we call “home,” even though we don’t have a home there anymore – Wake Forest, North Carolina. The almost two weeks we spent there flew by. Zoom. Whoosh. Vacation was over and it was time to pack up and head back to The Sandbox. However, while “home,” did attend to some of the straggling “loose ends” that never seem to end – dealing with the bank – we’ve been in Saudi for almost four years now, and even though we have filled out the appropriate documentation, sent letters and e-mails and made repeated, lengthy and costly telephone calls some of our “bank” mail goes to Sudan! – and it was during our last week in Savannah when we found out that one of our credit cards was cancelled because apparently some “bank data” was jeopardized so the bank sent new credit cards to everyone involved and our credit card was sent to Sudan and then returned – but we were actually paying for dinner one evening when we discovered the original card that we had in our possession had been cancelled – that makes for an interesting situation – and thankfully we have more than one credit card. We had to take care of our mail forwarding [mail goes to a “agent” who then forwards everything to us on a monthly basis], get the boat registered, and of course, as always while we are in the States get a shipment ready to send here. Hopefully sometime next week this shipment will be here – and this particular shipment consists of 484 pounds and will cost almost a Thousand Dollars. Four hundred pounds of this shipment is dry dog food. It’s just part of the cost of living in the Middle East. You pay what you have to pay.

It is a long trip home. A very long trip. On the day we left Raleigh, North Carolina, we checked into the airport at about one o’clock for a three o’clock flight to Detroit. We sat in Detroit for almost two hours. From Detroit we went to Amsterdam where we only had about an hour and a half before getting on the plane to Bahrain – but not before going to Abu Dhabi – which added some two and a half hours to our flying time – not because Abu Dhabi is so far – it’s only a fifty minute flight from Bahrain – but once in Abu Dhabi they had to service the plane and pick-up additional passengers. It was almost eleven o’clock when we finally, finally dragged our sorry selves through the front door – after a total travel time of twenty-seven hours.

We arrived to a very, very quite house. The “Kids” were at the kennel. This was the first time we’ve ever come home to such quiet, as in the past The Boy has been here with the House Assistant – the addition of The Baby only happened this past spring while I was in the States for most of February and all of March – so she has never stayed with him. I have no more House Assistant. I fired him on July 1st, six days before I left. He just wasn’t doing his job. Oh, sure, I could have “talked” to him again; we’ve had many conversations in the past where I’ve said “these are your responsibilities and this is what I expect.” And, for several weeks, things will go along just fine, and then we have to have “the talk” again. I’m done. No more talking. It’s detailed… On Wednesday, June 28th, I said “today is floor day,” and he actually gave ME a hard time about it. Wait a minute, here… This is my house. This is what I want done. You are my employee. And, you’re going to argue with me about washing the kitchen den hallway bathroom floor? Umm, no. It was an on-going issue – what needed to be done and what actually got done. My House Assistant’s schedule was that he worked for us seventeen hours a week – in the mornings – and this house should have been immaculate – and it just isn’t – wasn’t. I spent that Thursday and Friday just seething about the whole situation and decided that I just wasn’t going to have “it.” I started making a list of all the times we’ve “talked” and all things we “talked” about. It is three pages long. When the “cons” outweigh the “pros” by two and a half pages, it’s time to make a change. Well, firing the House Assistant, right before I left, probably wasn’t the most optimal way to handle this, and I had to put the Kids in Canine Camp for almost an entire month, but I knew that with the in the kennel – here on our compound – that I wouldn’t have to worry about how much time the House Assistant was spending with them, whether they were getting fed on time, and whether or not they were safe.

Maybe I’ll go into detail on the House Assistant issue at a later time. I am still very, very angry over this whole issue. The bottom line is, however, that I hired someone – he’s been with us almost three years – treated him much better than a lot of household help here gets treated, paid him more than I should have, and I was taken advantage of, over and over and over. I will not have household help again for a while. I just don’t want to go through this again.

So, after just a few hours of sleep, I woke up before the sun, anxious to get to the kennel – which doesn’t open until seven o’clock – to collect my Kids. As I am about to leave the house – it’s 6:45 in the morning – I see this puddle of what looks like “yellow” water on the den floor, along the wall. I am questioning what it is I spilled – it’s not coffee and it’s not from one of the Kids [they aren’t here!] – and was it there last night? Hmmph. Okay, wipe it up with a couple of paper towels, run upstairs to grab my wallet and “put my lips on,” and when I get back downstairs, there is more yellow water. What is going on? Oh, my, the neighbors must be having some plumbing problems. I head out the door and ring the neighbor’s doorbell. No answer. Ring again. Oh well, no answer. Whatever. I jump in the truck [it’s a Land Rover – I call it a truck] to go to the kennel to get the Kids. They are THRILLED to see me – and I am THRILLED to see them! It was a very touching reunion. We get in the truck and come home. We walk in the door and the den and kitchen floors are soaked! Water is just running into my house from next door. I start throwing some old towels down to cover the floor. Uh-oh. The carpet in the dining room is wet, too! It is “squishing” when you walk over it. Great. Just great. I don’t have that many old towels and I really don’t want to use nice towels to clean up something I’m not even quite sure what it is. As I head out the door to go back to the neighbor’s – the Kids are racing through the house – racing through the water – and someone is going to get hurt! – the House Assistant from next door is running toward me – his arms waving wildly and telling me a pipe broke and he doesn’t know who to call. [There is no less than four inches of water on the floor of the townhouse next to ours – the Oriental carpets have got to be ruined – as well as some of the furniture! They have two little “yip-yip” dogs next door and the poor little things are swimming in the water. I make the call to “202” and tell them it is an emergency and they have to come right away. They do. They send plumbers, a truck that sucks water out of your house, a team of men to “squeegee” the house next door and rip up the little carpet they have there – it is mostly tile. Several hours later the same team heads to our house to do the same thing. It is just one big mess.

In the meantime, as I am trying to unpack and get semi-situated back at home, with the Kids, I notice some black pellet looking “droppings.” I think I must have a rat. Great. I’ve seen one rat here – thankfully it was not alive at the time – and it was not pretty. And, now I’ve got one? Oh no, this is NOT good. I call “202” again and they send “pest control.” They little man gets here and says, “Oh, Madam, you have a rat.” Yeah, like I said on the phone when I called. And, gee, thanks for confirming this for me. “We must send someone with a trap.” Yeah, like I said on the phone when I called. So, a little while later another man gets here and he takes one look at the little black pellet looking things and says, “it is a gecko.” Are you sure? Because the man that was just here said I have a rat. “Oh, no, Madam, it is a gecko.” And, to prove this he starts squishing the little black pellet looking things with his finger – on the floor! Eeeuww! “See, Madam, they are soft and contain bugs. It is a gecko. Rat droppings are very hard and you cannot squish them.” Yeah, well, okay then. Now what? “He will leave, Madam, he will not like the cold air [huh?] and wants to be outside.” Sure he does… Not to worry, The Boy will find him if he’s here, because he is after all, the World’s Best Lizard Chaser! The Boy won’t catch the lizard, but I’ll know when he finds the lizard because of the ruckus it will cause. The little black pellet looking things have been cleaned up and there have been no more, so if there was a gecko in this house he’s either hiding somewhere and making a mess elsewhere or he has decided he doesn’t like it here and he has left or I guess, he could be under the stove or one of the refrigerators and dead at this point. There’s no awful smell coming from under any of my appliances so I’m hoping that he has left, gone back outside to the almost unbearable heat and humidity we’re experiencing.

It’s soooo good to be home!

Drunk Camel Herding

On a slightly lighter note – however, in keeping with tonight’s “alcoholic” theme, I found this amusing – in more ways than one – as well as a bit dismal.

Anyone who knows this “area” of the Middle East knows that you can’t just “cross into the Eastern Province from Bahrain.” Go ahead. Grab that Atlas that’s been sitting there on the bottom shelf of the bookcase collecting dust. I’ll wait…

See? Bahrain is an island. And, as is typical for most islands, it is surrounded by water. There is The Causeway. It is probably a good five miles – maybe more – long. I can’t drive from one side to the other – I can drive after getting to the Bahrain side – but I cannot drive from my house to that point – so I’ve never checked the mileage. [Actually, the driving here is, for the most part, so bad, that I take a book if it is daylight and read. It is just too scary to watch the road and other drivers!] Either way, it’s a pretty good hike from Bahrain to Saudi Arabia via The Causeway.

Perhaps the camels swim? I know very little about camels, so if someone would like to set me straight on this, by all means, have at it. Be my guest.

And, I’ve not even given much consideration to the fact that this little old alcoholic Camel Herder has to go through customs – twice – Bahrain to leave, and then Saudi Arabia, to enter, after swimming how far? If you are walking, with your camels, do you still have to pay the crossing fee? How much is it per camel?

The dismal aspect of this is that at 80 years old this man for whatever reason isn’t able to retire and hang out in his tent – in the desert – with his camels and firewater. You’re 80 and you’ve worked all your life – herding camels – it’s time to kick back. You deserve it. And, you’ve taken “personal responsibility” for your actions. You’ve freely admitted that you are a “serious alcoholic” and your “greatest joy [is] to herd camels in the desert while drunk.” What you DON’T deserve six months in jail and 300 lashes! Is there a possibility that perhaps YOU are too short for jail?

I'm raising my glass to the little Old Alcoholic Herder with the Swimming Camels. Cheers!

John Couey Number Twoey on Drugs

Child rapists ARE everywhere! The Sandbox is no exception – it has its share of sick, twisted and perverted child monsters.

John Couey’s case has been in recent headlines as his confession was made without the benefit of counsel – a “right” he asserted “no less than eight times in 46 seconds,” per FOXNews.com. This previously convicted sex offender admitted to detectives that he had kidnapped, raped and by means of burying her alive “killed” nine-year old, Jessica Lunsford. Couey – through the poor sap with a legal degree that drew the short straw – his Court appointed attorney – ultimately paid for with “our” tax dollars – will most certainly put the blame of whatever lame and sorry excuse of an explanation that he can muster for committing this crime to his drug addiction [crack cocaine].

Today, here in The Sandbox, Arab News reports that a “drunkard” father was caught in the act of raping his ten-year old daughter and arrested! The child’s uncle, her father’s brother, was included in the action – a ménage a trios – but “escaped when they [the police] raided the home.”

The little girl’s mother called the police on Saturday saying:

“that her husband and brother-in-law were attacking her daughter in a locked room in the apartment. [And] that the girl had been repeatedly raped for the past three days and had been subjected to severe beating and biting.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up, there, just a minute Mommy!!!

YOU KNEW THAT YOUR DAUGHTER WAS BEING REPEATEDLY RAPED BY YOUR HUSBAND AND YOUR BROTHER-IN-LAW FOR THE PAST THREE DAYS AND YOU WAITED TO CALL THE POLICE?!?

Similarly, in Couey’s case THREE OTHER PEOPLE may have known that Jessica was actually in the same run down piece of shit trailer that passed for a house – and not only did NO ONE call the police while Couey was doing the nasty with a nine-year old – but these THREE OTHER PEOPLE told the police they hadn’t seen or heard anything and didn’t know where Couey was [this all took place approximately 150 feet from Jessica’s house].

Am I the ONLY one who sees something wrong with this picture? I know there are other mother’s out there – who, like me – wouldn’t give a second thought to leaping in front of an oncoming freight train – or jumping in front of a loaded gun as the trigger was being pulled – or whatever – to protect their child! [Yes, I had a son, not a daughter, but the sentiment remains the same. There are plenty of sicko’s out there that rape little boys... Yeah… Today, they’re called school teachers…]

Thankfully [maybe?], in the case, here, at least the little girl hasn’t been buried alive – she’s not dead. She may wish she was at some point later on down the road, but for now, she’s in a hospital and it is reported to be “critically ill.” Yeah, I’d say…

We may never learn what punishment, if any, gets meted out to this “drunkard” Dad and his baby balling brother. Right now, we’re not even privy to their names – which if suppressed to protect the identity of the child is understandable, commendable even. More likely however, the reason these incestuous perpetrators have not been identified by name has to do with the fact that they are “locals.” Regardless, the fact that they may be alcoholics or addicts probably won’t be quite as swaying in their defense in The Sandbox as it would in the States. It is, however, interesting to note that Sociologist Adel Munawwar tells us this:

“Drugs and intoxicants are the root causes of several types of brutal crimes. Drunkards and drug addicts never seem to be aware of the depth and gravity of the crimes they commit.”

Um-hmm. That may be very true. But that shouldn’t negate PERSONAL responsibility. Ever!

And, what of the mother who didn’t report that her child was being raped? She needs to have her head examined and then she needs to be called to the mat. Same with the three other people that purportedly knew Couey had Jessica. What is it? I just don’t get it. How could ANYONE know that a child was being harmed in this way, shape or form and NOT do anything???

It. Is. Just. Sick. All of it. The men [and women, too] who commit the crimes; and those that enable them to do so.

There is only hope that the criminal justice system here [yeah, whatever they want to call it] has a hierarchy like the States: Baby raping is considered the lowest of the low; they prosecute their own on the “inside” if you get there – say – if you’re NOT TO SHORT FOR PRISON! And, if when you saw or heard this story when it was “news” you didn’t just shake your head…There shouldn’t be second chances for ANYONE that rapes a child. The gavel comes down, a guilty verdict is returned, and off you go. Straight to whatever jail or prison will take you. And there you remain. You do not pass Go, you do not collect $200.00 and you cannot use a “get out of jail free” card. You do not get put in special “lock-up” where you are not included in the general population. And, while you’re there, until you can pay for your own castration no cable T.V., no canteen privileges, nothing! [Damn, I just wish I was in charge…]

Internet Blamed for Drug Abuse

Okay, the Internet is not really being blamed for drug abuse, but instead for the “increase” in drug abuse. Dr. Muhammad Ali Koman says here that:

“[T]he Internet played an important role in the circulation of drugs and that many criminals used the worldwide web to learn ways of smuggling and distributing narcotics.”

This, in and of itself, amazes me. I can’t track wine baskets that I’ve sent as gifts to relatives in the States as the sites are “blocked.” But I could, if I so desired, learned new ways of smuggling and distributing narcotics? What would one even search for to find the newest ways to smuggle and distribute narcotics? I need to start thinking more like a criminal and I’ll be able to figure this all out…

“The Internet is like any other technology; its misuse can lead to creating new types of crime. The Internet has been responsible for many ills within society,” he said.

If you don’t know, it was only within the last year or two that camera phones became legal here, in The Sandbox. Until then, they could and would be confiscated and immediately destroyed. That evil technology – those evil camera phones – and now – the evil internet! Who knew technology would one day be blamed for just about everything!?!

Dr. Koman further states:

“[T]here are no clear statistics about drugs in Saudi Arabia but compared to other countries drug abuse is very low in the country, thanks to Islamic awareness and social unity.”

Yeah, okay, you can go ahead and thank “awareness and social unity,” but I am more inclined to believe it is thanks to this Country’s “deterrent program” where the mere possession of drugs presents the possibility AND probability that one will have an opportunity of getting to be close and personal with Abdullah Sa’id Al-Bishi [Heads Will Roll, June 23, 2006].

Women’s Phones to be Tapped

Something is missing from this article. It just screams discrimination! Can you even imagine this happening in the United States [putting aside any other phone tapping programs, I mean for JUST women to be singled out]? The ACLU would have the complaint drafted and would be in the initial filing stages if this were to happen in the United States. But, this isn’t, and I’m doubtful that anyone will ever stand up and say, “But what about tapping the men’s phones, too?” And quite frankly, just tapping the phones will not stop “phone abuse,” if that is truly the problem.

I can attest to being one of those in the States who abused a cell phone. Like many, when I first got my cell phone, it was going to be “for emergency purposes.” Then “emergency” morphed into, “Honey, I’m stopping at the store on the way home. Do we need milk?” And from there, it was all downhill, being in the car or at the store or wherever was just another opportunity to make or take a phone call – and I considered it to be a timesaver – in that I could have double the amount of “just to chat” conversations with family and friends.

Here, in The Sandbox, cell phone use is epidemic. I do NOT recall the last time I saw someone WITHOUT a cell phone. A majority of the imported laborers and workers have them, many of the maids have them, all of the young “local” boys and girls have them, as do most of the “local” adults. And, I do not mean that these people all just “have” cell phones; they use them, they are permanently attached to many ears! [Me? Well, I can honestly say that my cell phone here, at this point, is for “emergency purposes.”]

Thus, that the Ministry has decided to “introduce radical measures to stop women employees and teachers from using telephones at work” will likely do nothing to curb what may indeed be a problem, in that there is nothing that will stop these women from using their cell phones. And, from what I’ve seen in the variety of work places I’ve had the pleasure of visiting, the men are as bad, if not worse, than the women when it comes to being on the phone. Interesting, then, why it is, when women are the minority workers, here in The Sandbox, that the men are not being targeted if the intended result is increased attentiveness and productivity.

Lizard in the Bedroom

The Boy, our Great Dane, is a world champion lizard chaser. He’s only caught one, ever, so he’s not much of a catcher – just a chaser. The lizards are much faster, and probably much smarter. All but for the one he caught – and that lizard lost its little tail – but the lizard didn’t leave. He continued to live out back, to taunt The Boy every chance he could possibly get.

Last night, I was sitting at the computer, and I kept hearing this “whack!” “thwap!” noise. Each time I would get up to go see what it was, I’d see The Boy – just standing on the bed – and I figured, okay, he must have lost a chewy or a ball down in between the mattress and the headboard. Geez, I hope he’s not scratching the headboard and that that is what that noise is. This went on for about ten or fifteen minutes. I’d hear the “whack!” “thwap!” and get up to go check it out. Each time – nothing – just The Boy standing on the bed.

Again, “whack!” “thwap! THUUDDD!” and I go to see – and there he is, The Boy, who must have been standing on the nightstand – no small dog – he’s a Great Dane – is caught with his right front leg and rear leg BEHIND the nightstand, his body in a rather sideways position semi-on top of the nightstand with his head down on the side of the nightstand stuck next to the wall. Oh, my gosh! What in the world are you doing?!? I help him – free him from an almost impossible position and spot – without hurting him – and what does he do? The Boy jumps back up on the bed to try this again! And that’s when I see it. There is a baby lizard on the wall – up high – a teeny, tiny little gecko lizard, all of about two inches long. It is driving The Boy absolutely crazy, and he is bound and determined to get it, no matter what furniture he destroys doing so, or how many broken bones he might end up with. [That he didn’t break something when he fell off / onto / behind the nightstand is nothing short of a miracle! And, the nightstand is still intact as well. Note to self: Write to the furniture company, tell them how strong their stuff really is. Another note to self: Start wearing camera around neck to have readily available at all times, and especially for Kodak moments like this one!]

Great. Now what am I going to do? How do you catch a lizard? And, oh, my, I’m not actually going to touch it! I can’t! I’m close to petrified of creep crawly things, and I realize it’s only a baby lizard, and I don’t think they bite, do they? It’s only nine-thirty. Call the neighbor. I’ll have him come and take care of this. I dial the phone. No answer. Try again. No answer. Okay, leave a message this time… But, now I’ve got to stand here and watch this lizard until he calls me back – what if he’s not home until midnight? I can’t possibly sleep in this room with this lizard in here! What to do, what to do… I grab a newspaper, fold it in an “L” shape, open the sliding door just a couple inches, and am able to nudge the poor little creature outside. Phew. Call the neighbor back, leave another message. No worry. I took care of the lizard.

The Boy is still standing there, just giving me this look that says, “Well, good job. Now you’ve ruined my night.” He was going to get that lizard! “You almost got it. You’re a Good Boy. And, you’re a really, really good Lizard Chaser. Good Boy.”

DSL Hook-Up

We now have DSL. Got it today – the nice man came at 8:45 this morning – and refused to come in until, of course, the “Kids” were “put away.” The Boy – I’ve said before – goes to his crate, happily, when he is told to. The Baby – HA! Runs for her dear, sweet little life if she thinks she is about to be put into her “torture chamber.” No matter. I put The Baby on her leash – got her all excited – she, is, of course, thinking “Walk Time!” This, naturally, makes The Boy go NUTS seeing that The Baby has a leash on and even though he is in his Happy Place that he is NOT going is not going over well with him, at all… Hopefully he was relieved to find out that all I did was walk The Baby upstairs to show the nice computer man where our computer is and where our telephone jack is. The nice computer man, apparently, was unable to concentrate with The Baby [who weighs all of forty pounds – she’s a six month old puppy for goodness sake!] in the same general vicinity. I had to lock The Baby in the kitchen – so now both Kids are barking, crying…

I know I’ve posted already about what a wonderful thing is it that we can dial “202” and have maintenance come and fix about anything, almost immediately. Well – they come – but don’t necessarily fix it whatever it is – and often this requires several visits from lots of different little laborers imported from a variety of countries.

We have a similar number to “IT” and we dial it and they “fix” whatever it is. A couple of months ago, when we got the new computer that I didn’t know we needed, with the big flat screen, the wireless keyboard and wireless mouse, and NO diskette drive, we called to get a DSL hook-up – we’ve been using dial-up. Yesterday I get a call that they have made it down the list of 450-something installations – and it’s our turn, finally – and that the DSL would be installed this morning at nine o’clock. I’ll give the workers in The Sandbox this – they are almost always early – unlike in the States where when they say your cable will be hooked up on whatever date – and they can’t give you a time…

The nice computer man is here for a little less than an hour. He says, “You are finished.” [I had no idea how much he meant this, at the time!] He clicked on the little “Explorer” icon and said, “You put this on – that is all you do.” Okay, maybe the English lacks some – but they are almost always early! And, the nice computer man leaves and I release the Kids from their misery.

About an hour later, I come upstairs, sit down at the computer and “put this on,” or “click” the “Explorer” icon. I get an error message. I can’t even recall exactly what it said, but I couldn’t get on-line, at all. I am not happy. I am no longer calling the computer man the “nice” computer man. I call the IT people. I tell them that my DSL was just hooked up, that the man left an hour ago, and now, I can’t get on my computer. I go through this exact same conversation with about a half dozen people over the course of an hour and a half. It is now almost one o’clock and I feel as though I have done nothing constructive with my day so far but try to explain what my computer is doing – and try – I tried so hard, I really, really did – to do whatever it was the IT people were telling me to do. I ended up, with the last guy, just losing it. It couldn’t be helped. He was telling me to do things much too fast – go here, do this, click on this – no right click – “tools,” no “properties.” What? “Which one was I supposed to click first?” It was useless. His parting words to me were to shut everything down and turn it back on in ten minutes and call back. WTF?!?

Speechless. He left me just speechless. No – I had plenty to say – but I was off in high-gear headed to the point of no return in my rage! Just fuming. Can’t describe it in words. Knew that I had to take a break – couldn’t work on the problem any more at that point. I knew I’d end up saying – or worse – doing something that I would later regret. So, went without a computer for the entire afternoon. Later – around four or so – I called the IT desk back. Explained the problem, explained that I’d spent an hour and a half on the phone earlier and no one seemed to be able to help me, blah, blah, blah. Finally, got “Agent #21’s” supervisor on the phone – he had a name – not a number [they use “Agent #16, #11, #34 when you talk to them – I don’t blame them though – because if people like me could identify them by name and find out where they live…]. So I talk to the supervisor. He promises to call me right back, “In Shallah.”

I know what “In Shallah” means! It means, “God Willing” and the moons all line up, and the day doesn’t end in “Y” and it starts snowing, you will get a call back. That was all it took. I went over the edge. I could barely talk. I ended up muttering through semi-hysterical sobs that this place doesn’t know how to do anything, that it takes eleven people to fix a dryer and a freezer, that it takes five refrigerator deliveries to get a freezer that is not broken or that fits, that the computer guy screwed up my computer and I don’t want to click and do stuff anymore I want someone to come fix it – at my house – right now – that it’s hardly my fault that I have no communication with the outside world and now the only communication I have they have taken away from me. WAAAWWAA!!! The guy tells me I need to calm down – that he will call me back – he promises. Yeah, calm down. Right…

He does call back. He tells me that he has spoken with his supervisor – there are always more supervisors here than workers – it’s the way it is – and that there is nothing they can do until the next business day. WHAT?!? Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!!! This is a long weekend! I don’t know what Saturday is, here, but it’s a holiday, so you’re telling me that no one is going to be able to help me until Sunday? No. I don’t think so. I’m sure he’s thinking in the ten minutes we’ve been off the phone that I’ve had time to calm down and return to being a “normal, sane” person. He is wrong. He is really, really, really wrong! I almost feel sorry for him – nah, I don’t either – it was his fault for saying it would be Sunday until I could get my problem fixed… Yes, I might have said a few things I regret…

“You are going to leave me with this problem until Sunday, I have no way to go anywhere, I can’t just jump in my car and drive to the nearest ‘internet café’ to use a computer, and I wouldn’t be able to use one even if I could drive – or take a cab – because they are for men only! What kind of Country is this, why does everything everyone touches here just make things worse, and how can things possibly get any worse than they are?” I went on… It wasn’t pretty. “Okay. Fine. If Sunday is the best you can do, then I guess I don’t have much of a choice, pretty much like everything else here – my feet are tied together tighter than you ever tied a camel’s feet – women have no choices here – and for God’s sake if there was Vodka available then we’d all be alcoholics because that’s just the way things are here – YOU make us want to drink – and if everything wasn’t such a problem which you create for yourselves then this Country would be a lot further along than it is – and don’t even bother getting someone to fix my DSL on Sunday – just hook my computer back up the way it is and save me the aggravation that is just going to get worse because no one has a fucking clue in this place!” Slam! Conversation over. [That’s pretty much a general description of how the conversation went – I don’t have a recording of it to transcribe, but I know it was probably recorded – and I should care, but don’t at this point. They say on the recording when you call, “This conversation could be recorded for training purposes…” Train this, why don’t you!]

I did get a call back a few minutes later. It was the “nice” computer man that was here this morning. He wanted to know what the problem was… I explained, as rationally, as possible, at the time, and said that I needed it fixed, that someone has to come here and fix it. He asked me when? What? When?!? NOW!!! He was here in about thirty minutes, and for the time being, I think the problem is fixed. It’s a temporary fix. I don’t expect it to last long… That’s the way things are here. It took over a week to get a new refrigerator delivered – when all I had was a broken freezer door – they delivered several – it was an unbelievable parade of refrigerators coming in – and going out – and more work than it was worth. It took ten different men to fix my dryer hose. Do you honestly think that I think that my computer is fixed? Yeah, right! In Shallah…

Vacation IS Work

I am leaving, at the end of next week, and will be gone for almost a month. This will be my fourth trip to the States in less than a year. Apparently, there is something very wrong with me, because everyone around me seems to be much more thrilled about my situation than I am. They are both envious of me – for getting to “go to the States,” and excited for me – that I’ll get to be in the “real world” and experience “normalcy” again, even if for a short time. My reaction to this? Well, not once have I said, “Oh, I can’t wait!” or “It’s going to be so much fun!” No. Instead, I am dreading it.

The travel, alone, is daunting! I will leave here, my house, in the evening, and take a cab to the airport – which is, at a minimum an hour away – if not longer – so I will allow myself two and a half hours, by the time I get through customs on both sides and finally cross the causeway [I’m leaving from Bahrain], where after arriving at the airport almost two hours prior – as is required for International flights – my plane will not leave until almost one in the morning. That’s not such a bad thing – I’ll be able to sleep – I can sleep almost anywhere. The first leg of the flight is almost nine hours and upon arrival in this country, I will spend two hours at the airport waiting to catch a flight for the next leg of my trip. The second leg of the flight is a little over seven and a half hours long, and at this point I will probably have to force myself not to become to “antsy” from sitting, I won’t be tired, and I probably won’t be able to sleep. Estimated travel time, so far: twenty-three hours. I will arrive in the States and have to go through customs, where it is more likely than not, that I will be pulled aside and taken to a little room for approximately an hour to be interrogated and given the third degree for being an American citizen who lives in Saudi Arabia.

The questions are always the same – yes, this happens regularly – I don’t recall the last time I made the trip where this didn’t happen. My answers will not have changed since the last time you asked me [February] what I am doing living in Saudi Arabia, why I am traveling alone, how much cash I have on me [U.S. Dollars – none], who my husband works for, etc., etc., etc. The nice – and sometimes not so nice – Customs people will hand me back my passport and tickets and I will be on my merry way – to locate some semi-comfortable spot where I will need to kill another four hours until I finally board the plane for the last leg of this trip, for a two-hour flight where I will be unable to prevent myself from becoming “antsy” and where the very slightest provocation will set me off [if that is your child, sitting behind me, kicking my seat, I will – not quietly – be sharing my thoughts about your unruly, obnoxious, misbehaving offspring if it doesn’t immediately stop]. The trip, so far, will have now consumed some thirty hours of travel and layover time. There will be the inevitable half-hour or so wait at the airport of my destination to collect my luggage, before finding a cab to take me to the hotel where my husband is and has been since the beginning of this month. The total time elapsed, from the time I leave my house, will be just short of thirty-one or thirty-two hours!

Yes, I am happy that I will get to spend time with my family and friends, but to do so will require more travel – we will fly from Georgia to New York – a week after my arrival – next week – only to fly south, again, three weeks later, to North Carolina, before getting on flights to return to The Sandbox. My husband will have lived out of his suitcases for two months; I will have done so for almost a month, spending time in hotel rooms or family and friend’s guestrooms. And, this will be an “easy” trip. [The first time we returned to the States, a little more than a year after arriving in Saudi Arabia, in a little less than two months we traveled first to Texas, then to California, to Washington [state] to New York and to North Carolina, where we joined friends who left with us to go to Italy where we went to Venice, Rome and Milan – we stayed in thirteen different hotel rooms or family and friend’s guestrooms at various destinations which required traveling on eleven different flights – International and domestic – and a couple of trains. Oh, no, we will NEVER, EVER do this again!]

It’s not just the travel, and living out of suitcases, with no space to call your own… There is the fact that if you are at a hotel, if you want to get up in the middle of the night and have a bowl of cereal – oh, wait – you can’t – sure you could order room service – but it’s not the same as walking into your own kitchen and opening the refrigerator to find something to eat that will satisfy whatever craving it is you are having. And, if you are with friends and family, I think it would be considered slightly bad taste to just get up and leave the bedroom in your nightshirt to grab that first cup of coffee – I, personally, don’t ever want to have a “first thing in the morning while I pour coffee” conversation with my husband’s best friend or my brother-in-law in my tee-shirt [just the tee-shirt!], hair not yet brushed and the tell-tale signs of mascara from the day before lining my eyes. So, unlike what might be something you are comfortable doing in your own home, you really can’t do somewhere else.

Forgoing the actual travel and being away from home, I’ve got numerous “things to do” before I can even leave… For starters, I make all the “Kids” food. Yes, this is something for which I have no one but myself to blame – but the food that is available for purchase here in The Sandbox is lacking in quality, to put it mildly. So, I’ve now spent an entire week in the kitchen preparing pre-measured bags of food, filling a chest freezer, for the Kids. I have cooked sixty pounds of hamburger, twenty pounds of chicken, ten pounds of turkey, and six pounds of salmon. I have hard-boiled, peeled and chopped more than twelve dozen eggs, cut into “stuffing” size cubes ten loaves of cereal bread, grated some ten or fifteen pounds of cheddar cheese and four or five pounds of parmesan cheese, cooked and pureed bags of frozen peas and cans of lima beans, shredded several kilos of carrots and sliced twice as many kilos of zucchini. I’ve cooked and chopped enough broccoli, green beans and beets that my hands have taken on a lovely light yellowish green and lavender hue. I have peeled, cooked and mashed sweet potatoes, and cooked rice and barley in commercial sized batches along with a couple containers of oatmeal. Thankfully, this is task is finally – finally – done.

There is the list of instructions to be left – which up until this trip – has been on the computer and I’ve just changed and updated it to make it applicable to whatever flights, dates, hotels, friend’s and family’s homes we can be reached at. We got a new computer [oh, yes, thank you, Dear, for getting us something we really needed – without a diskette drive so that I could simply put what I need from the old computer on a disk and plug it in to this one!] and so I am going to have to do the “instructions” from scratch. There are forms that must be filled out, here, that are not an option, and then delivered to their respective offices: One for housing that says we are gone and who is responsible for maintenance, one that is for security authorizing our “house assistant” to stay here with the “Kids,” and one for the vet authorizing treatment for the “Kids” should it become necessary allowing payment of same to be withheld from my husband’s pay, and finally one for the mail – that we never get – to be held. My list of “things to do” includes numerous other items – some of which are relatively important [i.e., get The Baby’s stitches removed – she was spayed this week], and others which, if not done at all [i.e., get a pedicure] will probably go unnoticed.

So, no, I’m not entirely thrilled to be “going on vacation” at this point… And, no I’m not excited. But for the fact that my father’s health is failing – he had two heart attacks in March, just before we returned to The Sandbox – so I want to spend some time with him – I would tell my husband who has been in the States for work-related purposes, that I just can’t do this trip, again, right now. We were in California in September of last year; we were in Las Vegas for the Holidays and returned to The Sandbox in January; our “long” vacation was scheduled for March – I left The Sandbox to go to North Carolina in February – to get The Boy’s little sister, The Baby, and was gone for almost two months. We have another “short” vacation – already scheduled – for this fall – we are going to Thailand – and I could happily wait until then to go anywhere… I really rather wish, already, that this trip was over and done with and that we were home again, because traveling like this isn’t a vacation. It is work!

Naked Soccer!

One Sunday afternoon as my husband settled onto the couch to spend an afternoon caressing a “clicker” in one hand and a beer in the other, I casually walked thru the room and snidely remarked that a lot more women would watch football if the men played without their pants on. This drew a bit of a cringe, as my husband briefly and silently imagined how painful this might be, before saying “men wouldn’t watch at all.” I wasn’t referring to having men play in the “full Monty.” What I had in mind is skivvies, akin to a Speedo, and just enough to show off all those “tight ends.”

Saudi Cleric Decries World Cup Soccer Enthusiasm(CNSNews.com) - Millions of soccer fans around the world are zeroed in on the World Cup tournament, but a Saudi cleric claims that public enthusiasm over sports turns people into fools and encourages nakedness.

The full story is here.

It is really rather unfortunate that soccer would be denounced like this; it is not, however, at all surprising.

Heads Will Roll...

A recent article, “Confessions of an Executioner,” published on June 3, 2006, in The Saudi Gazette, will not show up in ANY search I do so that I can do a “link.” Oddly, I remember seeing a very similar article shortly after we moved to The Sandbox. The Saudi Gazette may well keep this particular article archived and dust it off on a regular basis, lest one forget that certain crimes truly are punished by beheading.

Often times, reading articles in The Saudi Gazette, they refer to what must be a companion / sister paper, Okaz. I did find this paper, and unfortunately, it is ONLY in Arabic. [Yes, I do believe I am close to being an expert in reading, writing and speaking Arabic – I have taken two sixteen week courses! – but I’m not quite expert enough to be able to do a search, and even if I COULD do the search, if I found the article, it would take me weeks, months, possibly years to translate it from Arabic to English.] I really didn’t want to have to type this, but here goes… From The Saudi Gazette:

Jeddah (SG)

ABDULLAH Sa’id Al-Bishi is an executioner. It’s a role he inherited from his father.

Al-Bishi, who is currently the second oldest executioner working for the Ministry of Interior as he has been practicing since the year 1412 H (1991-92), and took up the job after assisting his father for many years.

“My role was to obey the orders of my father. Sometimes, he would ask me to reposition the subject in preparation for the execution,” he told the Arabic language daily Al-Hayat. [This paper, with a very limited English version, did not come up with this article in a search, either.]

The job of the executioner is not only to carry out the death sentence, Al-Bishi said. The swordsman is also a kind-of-counselor [yeah, I bet he his!], sometimes approaching relatives of a murder victim and reminding them they can pardon the convicted up until the very last moment. [After that – oops, too late!] Al-Bishi related an incident when his father was an executioner and was preparing to carry out a death sentence on a young expatriate awaiting execution for killing a friend. The mother of the victim repeatedly declined to pardon the killer of her child.

“My father had a hunch that the heart of this bereaved mother could soften up,” Al-Bishi said. “[My father] walked up to her, with his sword in his hand, and told her that the head of the young man awaiting execution would separate from his body in a few seconds’ time, but that she could raise her hand any time before that if she decided to pardon the killer.”

“She was adamant still and as my father lifted the sword for the last time to go through with the execution, the mother of the victim raised her hand to motion to my father that she had pardoned the murderer,” Al-Bishi continued. “The crowd rushed towards her, cheering and saying that God the Almighty is great, and prayed for her to rest in paradise as a reward for her forgiveness.”

Three times, he’s been able to convince families of victims to pardon the murders after everything was ready for the execution.

“I can tell from the expression on the faces of the victims’ family members if they are considering pardon,” Al-Bishi explained.

He used to attend his father’s executions so he could do them himself in the future, Al-Bishi explained, in order to fulfill his father’s wish to prepare him for the job if he wanted it. [Gives new meaning to “following in your Father’s footsteps!”]

The first time he carried out a death sentence on his own, Al-Bishi says that everything went normally, and that he was able to wield the sword without any problems. [Well, thank goodness, for the poor criminal’s sake!]

Al-Bishi said he usually receives a number of death threats before and after executions. However, he said he does not worry about his personal safety or the safety of his family because he does follows [sic] both the State and Islamic law.

“I find these threat letters in my mail box but they [sic] are so many that I don’t give them any attention. I even turned down the Ministry of Interior’s offer to provide me with security guards,” he said.

There are a number of myths told about Saudi executioners and executions, Al-Bishi said. Some executioners become “deranged” after an execution. A typical Saudi executioner is a fierce person who acts on impulse and emotion. Those scheduled to be beheaded are so sedated they hardly even know where they are.

“All fairy tales,” Al-Bishi said, dismissing those myths. Al-Bishi said the only sedated people he deals with are those who are going to lose hands or feet, and not those scheduled to lose their heads.

“People get the impression that those awaiting execution are sedated because they collapse and become unable to move. However, they can sense and feel everything that goes around [sic] them,” he said.

But years of dealing with those sentenced to death, Al-Bishi said that some break down completely and do not utter a single word until they are actually executed [huh?] while others appear to hallucinate. Others still recite verses from the Qur’an and loudly repent, admitting publicly that they deserve to be killed as punishment for what they have done.

“The person to be executed is brought up with his or her hands tied behind the back. The person is made to sit down at the spot where the execution is to take place. An official appointed by the court then steps forward and reads out the verdict and all relevant details,” Al-Bishi said when describing a typical execution. [Lopping of someone’s head, typical? Yeah, okay.]

Following the execution, a physician is summoned to examine the body and ascertain death. The body is then taken away for burial. [And, the head? Where is the head taken?]

In the case of a “disciplinary killing,” a punishment for particularly nasty crimes, the executioner is required to use more than one blow in order to make the punishment for painful. [WTF?!?] “This is only in the cases of heinous crimes,” Al-Bishi said, adding that ordinarily, one blow is enough.

Just like any other professional, the executioner has a number of tools he uses, and not all of them are swords. [Razor blades? Hedge clippers? A table saw? What else could you possibly use?]

However, the sword is the most important, Al-Bishi explained. He said there are two kinds of swords executioners use: The Al-Jawhar, which is made in India, and the second is made in Egypt. Prices range between SR33,000 and SR 70,000 each.*

Al-Bishi said he picks his own weapons, including a personal pistol.

Those weapons are necessary because sometimes an execution does not go smoothly. [Yikes!]

“My sword broke once in the neck of an individual. On that day, there were five people awaiting execution,” Al-Bishi said. [Don’t ‘cha just hate when THIS happens! Yeah, this WOULD make for a bad day...]

Al-Bishi said the human skull is very hard, hard enough to break a fast moving sword. If this happens, Al-Bishi explained that execution cannot be halted and that he has to continue until the sentence is carried out. [Sweet Mother of God!!!]

On of the most cherished belongings passed on by his father is the sword used to execute Al Jehiman, the leader of a group of rebels who occupied the Holy Mosque in Makkah for two weeks in the month of Muharram 1400 H (November 1979) and “terrorized” all peace-seeking worshippers.

Al-Bishi said that Saudi executions are also the focus of a great deal on international attention, based on the concern some in the West for the human rights of the of the people executed [sic].

“A number of Brittish and US nationals came to identify the manner in which religious executions are carried out in Saudi Arabia where the canons of the Shariah are followed,” he said. “They witnessed everything, beginning with intervention by reconciliation panels and the attempts made at pardoning those executed and ending with the execution itself.”

Al-Bishi also trains other executioners, and has trained six who are currently awaiting official appointment and stand prepared to carry out executions, if need be, in several areas of the Kingdom. It also takes time to train a new executioner in how to use the sword properly and ensure that a death sentence is carried out mercifully as possible.

“When we have four or five people on the death row, it becomes necessary to use ‘unofficial’ executioners who have spent six full months of training and were pronounced by the vetting committee as fit to be executioners,” he said.

A trainee must have two essential attributes: being quick witted and far sighted. [That’s it!?! Nothing about needing to be coordinated? Or, perhaps, good with a kitchen knife? Not to mention a very strong stomach!] During their training period, they assist by carrying out several chores, including carrying the head of the executed person. [Well, this answers my question from above, i.e., burial of the body and what happens to the head.]

Al-Bishi himself does not hesitate before agreeing to go to any place in Saudi Arabia, including remote areas, noting that in case several people are to be executed on the same day and in different areas, a three-day notice must be served to allow him to come early. [But of course…]

He even has a special sword he uses on days when five or more people are to be executed: “Al-Sultan,” a 100-year-old sword. “It is the strongest and can never go lame,” Al-Bishi said. [Yes, we wouldn’t want for another sword to break in the neck of an individual. Best to use, “Al-Sultan, on those really busy days!]


Well, there, now… That wasn’t really too bad. And by typing it in myself, I was able to add just a bit of [my own] commentary where I thought it was necessary. So, it all worked out. Now if I can get the #%*$@ picture to load properly…

*SR33,000 = $8,847.18 U.S. Dollars
SR70,000 = $18,766.75 U.S. Dollars

Wow. That’s an awful lot for a sword, isn’t it? But then, for a profession such as this, I guess you’d want nothing but the “Wusthof” of swords. [Oh, my gosh, really, NO pun intended there! Let’s make that a Henckel...]

What IF there was a spider?

The woman who was locked in her house [What IF there was a fire?] – to all who commented – I agree, surely there is more to the story. But, who knows… In the meantime, on the same day, I missed this one in the paper, Arab News, it was just a couple paragraphs, buried on the bottom of a page.

It certainly would give one reason to believe that people just are not taking care of their mother’s here, in The Sandbox. This poor old woman – she’s 90! – has been forced to live in the stairwell of a building – without light, ventilation and a toilet, “because her children do not want to take care of her.” So, instead, she’s been resigned to have to live in what sounds to me like an ultimate spider habitat! Looking at the bright side [ha! there is no light!], her eyesight is deteriorating so if there ARE spiders she probably can’t see them.

The article sheds a little light [ha! there is no light!] on the lack of hygienic facilities, and why the woman is not getting charitable help.

Really, not to make light [ha! there is no light!] of the situation, because it truly is sad that anyone would be forced to live like this – but especially when you’re 90 years old – the woman has two sons and four daughters… Apparently the sons are “financially secure,” and one of the daughters living nearby said that she did not want to help her mother because she was “wicked.”

I have one son. I can assure you that through many years – those terrible teenage ones – he thought I was wicked – probably worse than wicked. I know I won’t end up living in a stairwell. My son wouldn’t do that to me. No, he’ll be putting me in a nursing home, instead. Probably one of those “homes for the aged,” you read horror stories about – abuse, lack of food, care, etc. Just as long as there aren’t any spiders…