The Power Struggle (part-five)

The struggles went on. Three weeks after delivery, Sarah continued to struggle with breastfeeding baby Abdulrahman. Norah continued to struggle with Sarah over motherhood. And Fahad continued to struggle with the loneliness that fatherhood brought him. 

Abdulrahman needed to be on a sleep and feed schedule that all babies were customarily put on as newborns. According to his grandmother Norah, “This feed and sleep on demand jargon is not acceptable!” Norah was training Sarah well for motherhood, according to her own experience. She felt that she had the experience and she knew well that carrying and holding the baby too much would only cause him to be spoiled and more demanding. Norah’s role was not unusual. In the Middle East, grandmothers usually take their daughters in and train them on how to feed and care for their new babies. Some believe that these women live vi- cariously through their daughters during this time. “My dear daughter, you already fed him, why is he crying again,” Norah asked Sarah as she walked into the guest bedroom where Sarah and her baby had been staying for the past three weeks. Sarah was carrying a screaming Abdulrahman over her shoulder as tears ran down her face. “I don’t know Mama, I just breastfed him and now he’s screaming again. Do you think he wants the bottle and not my breast? When I was feeding him, he was biting me and it hurt so badly but I forced him and I tolerated the pain, just like you told me to do.” 

“Sarah?” Norah questioned, “What if you don’t have enough milk. Maybe your breasts are too small to feed a healthy boy. Do you think maybe you are just like me and my sisters? We never had enough milk. Poor thing, I was hoping you would end up like your father’s sisters and breastfeed for two years.”
Sarah felt the cloud of misery settle itself heavily over her head. Norah based much of her advice on personal opinions and what she heard other women talk about in the community. It is not unusual for an Arab mother to impose her personal beliefs on her daughter without any proper training or scientific knowledge. These statements are common and are meant as insinuations to influence the daughter’s own beliefs and thoughts about herself. “Mama, I have milk! Look! It is dripping down my clothes. My breasts are not that small, but when he is breastfeeding, he cries. The book says that you can’t give a bottle if you want to breastfeed, because the baby might get nipple confusion. Maybe he has nipple confusion.” Sarah didn’t know enough to decide whether or not Abdulrahman was suffering from nipple confusion, although her intuition was correct.
“Sarah, please! Don’t believe everything you read. He’s only a baby, what does he know? How can he be confused? He doesn’t even think. He knows that your breasts are no good and that is why he cries. Maybe your milk is salty, or too light, or it hurts his tummy. Here, let me have him, I prepared his bottle about an hour ago, the milk is not bad yet.”

Many Arab families believe that babies don’t have feelings or thoughts and that they are trainable and become accustomed to what the mother enforces on them. Families in the Middle East and similar cultures often blame the mother’s milk for the failure of breastfeeding, and it is common to claim that a woman’s milk is light, salty, or causes vomiting.


Norah grabbed Abdulrahman once again, settled with him on the bed, and gently placed the plastic nipple dripping with artificial formula milk into his mouth. The baby sucked and sucked, as he learned to do in the hospital nursery, until his little tummy was full and he calmly fell asleep. Sarah sat in the armchair across the room and wept; she held her full breasts with both hands and watched her milk stream down her skin, soaking her nightgown for another night. Sarah’s instinct told her that she had to breastfeed, but her ignorance did not allow her. The maternal hormones flowed through Sarah’s blood as she watched her baby sleep in his grandmother’s arm. She had the urge to grab him away and run home with him, but the traditional role of respect and honor for her mother controlled her and forced her to keep quiet and give in to sadness and what was called the baby blues.
It was a few minutes past midnight, and Sarah woke up to a screaming baby. He screamed so loud and forcefully that she felt hysteria taking over her mind. Sarah held Abdulrahman in her arms and bounced him gently to calm him down, but the screaming went on. She sat down and gently pressed his mouth against her breast, but the screaming continued. Her milk flowed, but he turned his face and screamed. He tight- ened his tiny body and his face turned blue. She stood up and threw him over her shoulder to help relieve him of a burp or gas trapped in his tiny tummy, but the screaming continued. He screamed and screamed until the small tears flowed out of his eyes as he cried with pain. One hour later, Sarah could no longer tolerate the screaming. She asked herself, “Should I give him medication? I heard my friends talking about a medi- cation to calm the baby down. What was it? Where do I get it from? I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.” Sarah picked up the phone and called Fahad. “Fahad, my love, I’m sorry to call you so late in the night, are you sleeping?”

“Sarah?” Fahad was startled. “What’s wrong? Why is he screaming like that?”
“Wallah (in God’s name), I don’t know, he’s been screaming for over an hour now! And I’m worried, I don’t know why.”
“Where is your mother? Wake her up!”
“I can’t. Poor thing, she has been taking care of him all day. I want her to rest. Anyway, she will prob- ably just give him a bottle. I feel like she doesn’t want me to breastfeed, but I feel bad about thinking that way. Of course, she wants the best for me. Maybe I am just like her and her sisters and I don’t have enough milk, but Fahad, wallah, the milk is pouring out onto my clothes.”
“Sarah, leave the breastfeeding now; try to make him stop screaming. How can you stand it? I’m not there and it is driving me crazy!”
“I can’t, I’ve tried everything. Can you come over and take him to the doctor with me?”
“Now? It is two o’clock in the morning! There is no doctor clinic open now; we will have to take him to the emergency room.”

“No, no, khalas (it’s ok), I’ll try to give him a bottle of yansoon, maybe it will settle his tummy. I miss you.” “Me too; I’ll come over after work. Bye.” Yansoon is an herbal tea made up of anise seeds and caraway seeds boiled in water with natural sugar to sweeten it; the drink is used to relieve colic in babies.
Sarah looked at her screaming baby, his little face looked so stressed and miserable. She reached for the prepared bottle of herbal tea, a concoction of yansoon, caraway, and sugar. It was cold, so she placed it in the bottle warmer for a few minutes to make it warm. Abdulrahman gulped the warm tea down and continued to whine as he fell asleep. Sarah felt alone. It was a weird feeling of relief and sadness; her life had been changed forever. She had been looking forward to motherhood, but now she realized that it was not fun; it was exhausting, confusing, and scary. Now that Abdulrahman was quiet, Sarah changed his diaper and gave him his midnight feed. She offered her breast and he suckled happily while his mother held him, enduring the pain. Suddenly the world seemed bright, and happiness filled both their hearts.

Sarah did not realize that the artificial formula milk was causing her baby to suffer from gas and hard stool. She also did not know that the more she fed him from a bottle with an artificial teat, the more he would suffer from nipple confusion, the more she would suffer from cracked nipples, and the more likely he would be to reject her breast. Norah did not know that telling Sarah to feed her baby from the breast less frequently would mean Sarah would have less milk. 

The Power Struggle (part-four)

As soon as Fahad fastened his seatbelt, he called his best friend Mohammad. 
It is very common for Arab men to have a best friend with whom they share their worries and from whom to seek advice. 
“Salam! Give me your congrats, my wife delivered our son. Alhamdulillah he is well, and she is okay.”

“Mabrook (congratulations), mabrook; should we say Abu Mohammad (father of Mohammad) or are you thinking of something else?” Mohammad was very happy for his friend. “Wallah I don’t know. I need to consult with my father because Sarah wants to name him Khalid after her mother’s father and I’m not happy with that, because everybody will think that I am a weak husband. What do you think?”
“My friend, if that is the way it is, just go safe and name him Abdulrahman after your father. That is our tradition, and it always works for the best. Her family cannot argue with you, and your father will be very

pleased. You will also maintain your position in the family that way. Otherwise, you are in a losing battle with her family for eternity.”
Fahad knew Mohammad was right, so he made arrangements to register the baby’s name as Abdulrahman as soon as possible. Sarah would be happy that the name is not Mohammad, and his parents would be very happy with his decision.
Sarah spent two days in hospital with her female family members and friends; they visited while drinking coffee and tea and snacked on dates, biscuits, and chocolate. Her hospital room was decorated lavishly with baby bottle shaped ornaments hanging from the ceiling over her bed, the door to her room had a large welcome baby boy sign on it with two large floor arrangements, and the tables were garnished with trays of ornate dishes filled with flowers, chocolate, dates, and biscuits. The women laughed and giggled over stories of births, marital relationships, schools, childrearing practices, and parenthood. Sarah was happy to be the center of attention and was pleased that the nice nurses took good care of her son and fed him well in the nursery while she rested with her guests. This was her mother’s recommendation. She would not want her son to be exposed to diseases and illnesses that the guests might have unexpectedly brought in with them to her hospital room, would she?
“It is much better for the baby, and this will give your body enough time for your milk to come in,” Norah mistakenly advised. Fahad called a few times during Sarah’s stay in hospital and asked about his son, not disclosing to Sarah what he had decided to name the baby and leaving it a surprise.

Sarah’s first night at her mother’s house was a disaster. She ached with exhaustion and didn’t know what to do with this screaming stranger. He screamed all night as she tried to put him to the breast for his first feed. Her mother stood by closely and assured her that her milk still hadn’t come in, and it would be best to give him formula to stop the crying and try again for the next feed. “But mama, the book said that I should feed him at the breast when he’s hungry. I didn’t get a chance to read the entire book, but it said something about feeding on demand. Mama, please let me try. He is hungry, and I want to try.” 
This panicked behavior is commonly seen in postpartum mothers. After the festivities are over and real life sets in, mothers realize that they have an interest in breastfeeding. Mothers such as Sarah may have purchased a few books and skimmed through them a few days before delivery. 

“My dear daughter, you just said it. He is hungry, you don’t have enough milk yet, and your nipples are very small. Just let me feed him, and you can try again later. It is sinful to let him cry like this.” Norah grabbed Abdulrahman out of his mother’s arms and stuffed a full bottle of artificial milk in his tiny mouth as she sat down comfortably on the bed. This practice was famil- iar to her and she acted naturally, the same way she had after delivering her own children.
Sarah complained to her mother, “Mama, Fahad really wants me to breastfeed; he said that it is recom- mended in the Quran, I have to at least give it a try.”
“My dear, of course you have to breastfeed because it is recommended in the Quran; however, it is bad enough that Fahad didn’t let you choose the boy’s name, and now you’re going to let him tell you how to

feed the baby? He is not a mother, and he doesn’t know how hard it is. He would die if he heard this screaming. Anyway, you don’t have milk yet. Believe me, I know. What do you want to feed the poor boy, air?!” 
In the Middle East, most mothers get into a power struggle with their daughters’ husbands. It is very frequent for the daughter/wife to be caught in the middle. This example also demonstrates how breastfeeding is encouraged in the Middle East, but not supported. 

The Power Struggle (part-three)

“Sarah you are fragile and inexperienced and cannot endure the hardships of motherhood. I’ve had five babies myself, and I know how to prepare the soothing teas for the baby and special foods for you just like my mother did for me. You cannot do it alone. We will have a great time when you deliver, I am so excited!” Norah prepared her kitchenette with new bottles, teats, a sterilizer, and of course, the most probably needed artificial milk formula for the baby.
Labor started, and it started fast that night. Fahad saw Sarah suffering in pain with every contraction. He quickly jumped out of bed, got dressed, and threw Sarah’s abaya on over her nightdress as she wobbled to the door. Sarah moaned and groaned in the car on the way to the hospital. “Ya Allah, I’m sorry I upset my husband. The pain is unbearable, I am sorry. Ya Allah, please stop the pain! Forgive me Fahad, forgive me,” Sarah wept.

 Eighteen hours later...“Sarah gave birth to a lovely baby boy this morning” Norah boasted to her friend over the phone. “No, I didn’t attend the delivery, I waited outside. You know I couldn’t handle seeing my beloved daughter in pain,” Norah explained to her friend. They said their goodbyes and she hung up the phone. Sarah’s father walked in the sitting room, and the proud grandfather asked his wife if she was going to the hospital soon, as it was almost five in the afternoon. Norah explained that she was waiting for the florist to send his driver to meet her at the hospital with the flower arrangements for the hospital room. Sarah’s parents paid several thousands of riyals to ensure that her room was decorated well to receive the congratulating guests.

Sarah and Fahad were delighted that the delivery was over. Sarah was left in her hospital room to rest and remember her delivery experience. As soon as the baby was born, he was whisked off to the nursery to be weighed, bathed, and fed, only to be brought back to his mother upon her request. Most Middle Eastern mothers prefer for the baby to remain "safe" in the nursery so that the mothers can "rest and visit" with her congratulating friends and family. Not many women understand the importance of early initiation of breastfeeding or understand that it is essential to build up the immunity of the infant with colostrum in the first hours.
Fahad was being kind, especially after his wife so earnestly apologized for last night’s comments and asked her what she would like to name their son. “Khalid” was her request, but his mood suddenly changed and he said, “In sha Allah (By the will of Allah).” Norah suddenly burst into the room with hugs, kisses, and smiles. She was so very happy and delighted at the birth of her first grandson. “Ma sha Allah, Fahad; I am so proud of you. You endured her screaming and pain, what a brave man to be attending your wife’s delivery. These are the men of the modern day. Khalas ya habeebi; you go home and rest. Come and visit us when we are settled at home. I will take good care of her and the baby. Bye!” Fahad felt like he was being pushed out of the room, which he was, of course. It is very common for the Middle Eastern mother to take charge of her daughter and the new baby and to play a major role in decision making about feed- ing, changing, bathing, and all other care routines that in- volve a baby. Fahad was just thinking about the baby’s name, but decided not to discuss the subject in front of his mother-in-law. Fahad smiled at Sarah and quietly walked away. 

The Power Struggle (part-two)

Sarah placed her nightgown and robe in her suit- case and reached for her feather slippers. Her pregnant belly was too big, so Fahad kindly pushed them toward her and asked, “Are you really going to wear those?”
“Yes, I have to. There are going to be so many guests coming to see me and the baby in the hospital. I have to look nice. I have arranged for the hairdresser to do my hair soon after I deliver too,” Sarah responded with a smile.
“Why are you packing so many things, how long do you plan on staying in the hospital?” Fahad asked, already knowing the answer, but hoping he would get a different response.

“Fahad, I already discussed this with you, Habeebi, you know that this is our tradition, and we can’t change it. You know that my mother decided that it is a better idea for me to go to the hospital from her house and not from our home. After delivery, all the girls stay at their mothers’ houses for the forty days. It’s not like you and I know anything about babies; we can’t do things on our own. What if the baby cries? I am going to be too tired and will need my mother’s help. At least that is what all the women say. I’ve never had a baby, so I am going to need my mother’s help.”
“Sarah, are you telling me that I will be all alone for six weeks? That is a long time. What if I want to see the baby? What if I want to carry him, and get to know him? I can try to help you, and your mom can come here to help you if she wants,” Fahad said with sadness in his voice.
“Fahad, khalas (enough), this is our tradition, and you have to abide by it. This is how it is here in Saudi. Where do you think you are, America? Didn’t I already tell you that mama and my sisters invited their friends and family for dinner tonight? We are going to be working  on  the  final  preparations  for  all  the  décor,  chocolates, and guest favors. We’re not going to be the ones who change this tradition,” Sarah responded harshly.
“Fine, go. But choosing the name will be mine. You have to leave something to me. He will be my son, bearer of my name! Oh, and don’t forget to pack your books. You need to learn about breastfeeding, or is your mom going to do that for you too?” Fahad left the bedroom, sat on the living room couch, and turned on the TV. “Sarah! Tell Fatima (the maid) to prepare my dinner, I’m hungry.”

A  huge  cloud  of  sadness  floated  over  Sarah’s  head.   She suddenly felt alone and lost. Sarah truly loved Fahad and did not want to hurt or upset him, but he just didn’t understand the importance of her mother’s role in her delivery. Besides, Sarah didn’t want to embarrass her mother in front of friends and family by staying with her husband and resting at home during her last month of pregnancy. Her mother had repeatedly told her that she would need her help, that she might need to use formula because she might not have enough milk to breastfeed. Besides, her breasts were small, and she would not be able to carry the baby and address all his needs by herself. 

The Power Struggle (part-one)

The following short story is fictional and not based on any real people or true story. Any similarities to actual experiences are completely coincidental. The story depicts my experiences with average Middle Eastern families faced with the arrival of a new member and the interaction between the family members and the placement of roles. I hope you enjoy the read and perhaps you can relate to some of the frustrations that I work with.


ENJOY!

“What about Mohammad? Let’s just give the baby a name that can be universal and accepted by all,” Fahad recommended to his wife, who was thirty-nine weeks pregnant, while he stood in the doorway of the master bedroom after coming home from a long day at work.
“Assalamu Alikum,” she responded quietly, “When did you get home? I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Wa Alaikum Alsalam,” Fahad sighed with a tone of frustration, because he noticed that she was packing her bags.
Sarah looked over her shoulder and saw that Fahad seemed upset. “It should be the other way around, you say AssalmuAlikum first. I am the one at home, and you were the one who walked in—Islam 101!” Sarah responded to Fahad while trying to figure out his frustration in her mind.
Fahad tore the ghutrah and igal off his head, threw them on the bed, sat down on the plush chair in their bedroom, and took off his shoes. He didn’t make any eye contact and he didn’t say anything more. Sarah continued to have the conversation about the name Mohammad. “But that is such a common name nowadays. I want my son to be special. I want him to have a strong name, one that is appropriate for a little boy and for a man. Mohammad is nice, and it is the name of our beloved prophet, but today, people name anyone and everyone Mohammad—men on the street, strangers, waiters, cleaners. I don’t know; I have to think about it. I should ask my parents. My father wants us to name him Abdalaziz, and my mother wants us to name him after her father, Khalid. You know how she feels about my father not letting her name any of my brothers after her father. My poor mother, she had to name her boys after the men in my father’s family, so typical of her times. It would make her so happy, Alhamdulillah...my husband is different, right? You are going to let me name my son whatever name I want, right? Well, we can decide on the name together. We’re not going to name him Abdulrahman after your father or Hassan after your grandfather, right? You are a modern man, one who lets his wife participate in these personal decisions. I am so lucky.”
  

A Social Pet Peeve.

Are we not socially refined?


One of my biggest social pet peeves is when greeting a friend, family member, or acquaintance in Jeddah and the first thing out of his/her mouth is "Did you gain weight (تخنانة)?!", or "Are you tired (تعبانة) ?".
Why do people in this community feel like they can point out your flaws so honestly, making you feel worse than you may already feel or put a damper on a pretty good day. Why is it ok to be sooooo honest with hurtful statements and not with anything else?? 


I've lived in the States for ten years and spent every summer and winter break of my life either in the States or  somewhere in Europe and never encountered a person who said "did you gain weight?" or "why do you look so tired? Whats wrong with you?" Western people take every opportunity to say something nice or show concern in a genuine caring way. And if they have nothing nice to say, they don't say anything at all.

I would like to recommend to all, that we should make extra effort to be genuinely nice to everyone or just be quiet. We should follow universal teaches of all monotheistic and spiritual religions including the Hadith "Say good, or be quiet فلتقل خيرآ او لتصمت"; my mom always says "If you have nothing nice to say don't say anything at all". 

As an Islamic community we must make a conscious decision to be socially aware of our actions and how they affect our peers. We must have a higher awareness of how our actions and words are felt. 


Think about it:
What is your intention and could you unintentionally hurt someone? Can you say what you feel in a more concerned way? Maybe that person knows that she looks fat and she is feeling horrible about it, you pointing that out is not going to make her feel any better. Don't you think that she already knows that none of her clothing fits anymore and she is wearing her fat jeans?? You might not know that your friend is struggling with an inner fear and she hasn't slept all night, saying that she looks horrible is only going to make her feel worse and know that you are not such a good friend after all.

Think before you speak!

The Inside Outsider

This is an opinion piece that has stirred up a lot of controversy. I wrote the following in APRIL 2011. It was a candid response to an evening visit with a new American acquaintance that was suffering with her recent life in Saudi Arabia. I felt that I had to give her my most honest feelings to make her feel better, feelings that I hadn’t ever admitted to myself. The reason I titled it the “inside outsider” is because I feel that children from mixed marriages have a very unique view on true community life. Children with mixed backgrounds are called “third culture kids” and there are books published about this (term coined by Ruth Hill http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_culture_kid). We have very unique experiences and perspectives that even very well traveled and culturally exposed people don’t have. Those “foreigners” married to Saudis don’t quite have the same view as we do, and those foreigners living here for work, to learn religion etc. also don’t have the same view. People like me who are sitting on the dividing wall can see both sides clearly with a unique perspective. In addition, full Saudis would never admit what was really going on on the inside (it would expose the privacy of their community). Would more third culture kids in the next generation improve this place? I hope so!

I have had some responses to this piece that were in disagreement and others who couldn’t agree more. In any case this is my opinion and I would appreciate your respect. It is a sad piece and focuses on a lot of the negatives, which does not mean that there aren’t any positives, however, that I will write about later. In addition, I am generalizing and I didn’t say that none of this exists in the western world as well. All I’m saying is that this is my perspective as a third culture kid living in Jeddah, SAUDI ARABIA.

The Inside Outsider

About this place they call "Saudi," I have a lot to say. I have many feelings that are buried deep down inside, and for the first time, I am going to bring them out. I am turning my thoughts and feelings into words; these have been building up since childhood.

Saudi Arabia is a unique place. It’s a place where the ancient wisdom that it was once renowned for is long gone, buried under the mineral and black gold that seems to have given it new character and personality. A wisdom that has no more value, a wisdom that is now considered worthless and those who try to practice it are shunned and pushed aside. The ancient leaders of Arabia, the well-known prophets, scientists, romantics, poets, and many others would be appalled at what it has become today.

The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia often reminds me of the television series "LOST." It is a place with a strange power that controls everybody - a power that is unseen, unexplained, scary, yet resourceful. It is a place that is a "goldmine," a "safe haven," and a "no mans land," where if you place yourself properly, you can get away with murder - literally. This place attracts the most insufficient, unprofessional, unethical, dishonest people from all around the world. It attracts people who cannot make a decent living, people who have been convicted for something minor or even major, people who escape taxes, people who cannot get it together in their own countries – they all come here.

Saudi Arabia has a very low standard for anything ethical or professional. Its people are lazy, consuming, demanding, self righteous, spoiled and incapable. During the past 20-30 years, they have been in a slumber induced by a lack of leadership and tight controls on everything, which retarded any kind of growth. Losers from other countries come here to make a quick buck. I personally know and can name a few. These people come from all walks of life - the Americans, the British, the Indians, the Bengalis, the Filipinos, the Egyptians, etc, etc.

Saudi residents tend to group together to create little clicks, gangs, mafias - whatever you want to call it - survival groups that are bonded by the same goals, mentality, and mind set with strong loyalties to each other. These groups are very difficult to infiltrate if you are not like-minded. They are based on a commonality that each individual has while excluding any others. This grouping can be among siblings, extended family members, school friends, college friends, colleagues at work, or specific social classes and groups. If you find yourself trying to fit in, you will not be able to unless the majority in the group find a commonality that they can accept you for. They are in control not you; so don’t even try to fit in.

This is where I tell you not to be concerned with cultural differences or racial differences, because these are not what the society is based on. I don’t feel like there is a real culture in Saudi Arabia anymore. Society doesn’t practice true Arabian or Islamic behavior of generosity anymore. No more open homes, free food, kind words, smiles, helping hands, or anything that the Arabs or Muslims were previously very well known for. There no longer exists the Arabian Knight on a shiny white horse.

 

Don’t be afraid; be proud that you don’t fit in. I personally felt extremely reassured and relieved when I realized that I don’t fit in fully and that I never will. I have been brought up in a multi-cultural home, which is non-judgmental, considerate, kind and forgiving. I was ecstatic when I finally accepted that I would never be a full part of the “majority” of the Saudi people of today. I may never really fit in anywhere, but I know that the human characteristics that really matter in the end are the ones that I want to practice and hold on to even if that means that I am estranged from my own “home town.”

This place has to have a purpose for you, besides it being a home. You have to find something that you can only be able to take advantage of in such a country with so much free time - maybe like completing a higher degree because of the long empty hours you will have affording plenty of time to study, or work experience that is unique, or exposure to others who may get you a foot in the door somewhere. Make this place work for your personal gains. Don’t just exist here for the sake of your children; they will also never really fit in (being from a mixed culture background). Let them be who you want them to be, not who you think the society will accept - because it’s not going to happen. They should be good people with beautiful human characteristics, with universal rules to follow - people who can live anywhere in the world and make you proud.

Always make sure you have an escape - yes, a way out! Always keep your passports with you, especially the American ones. Make sure you have the consulate’s number with you at all times. Always have a plan that will get you and your kids out of here if necessary. Most Saudis have and or seek dual citizenship for this reason - an escape route. Those who don’t have dual citizenship truly envy those who do. People may mistreat you only because they know that you and your kids can leave if you ever wanted or had to, and that the American government will support you as a person no matter what. YOU ARE THE UNTOUCHABLES, and that’s why you feel the hate.

Of course there are many good things here, but you must wade through the bad and scrape it off before you can see or appreciate the good. That’s just the way it is - the most annoying stuff just gets right up into our faces. In my opinion it is one of the most difficult countries in the world to live in. This place is “special” in many different ways. You will find those few and far between people whom you will not be able to live without. These are the people who will appear when you are most in need and they can keep you afloat. These people will be your friend no matter where you go, and they are in the same position you are in, so they understand.

Don’t be who you are not, and don’t try to change. That is the biggest cause for distress and depression when living in Saudi. Because no matter how hard you try to please family members, friends, or “the group”, they will never appreciate it and never be pleased because you are just not “one of them” - and you will never be. It’s the painful truth; they will just laugh at you and talk about you behind your back. So be your beautiful Californian blonde self and enjoy being that. Their envy is killing them!

A very strong tool to use in Saudi is silence. If they can’t hear your thoughts they can’t control you. If they can’t see what you are all about they can’t get to you. The majority of Saudi people are experts at reverse psychology and mental manipulation. They have a skill at finding your weaknesses and going for you. If they don’t hurt you today, they will tomorrow. Keep your thoughts to yourself and that is your power against them.

I know that it is tough because you must live in survival mode constantly. You must become accustomed to protecting yourself and building a strong defense mechanism. It is exhausting and sometimes not worth it. But if you choose to live here, this is the advice I have for you. This is what I have learned living amongst them as an “inside outsider.”

This piece was originally posted on a dear friend’s blog; you can click this link and see the responses. http://susiesbigadventure.blogspot.com/2011/04/inside-outsider.html

One of my favorite comments was: “Khayra said...

Since everyone's starting with their backgrounds: I'm writing as one from the second generation of Halfies (Half-Saudis) with both my parents being Halfies.

I REALLY like this post.
There should be an "Inside Outsider" forum or something! It reminded me of the first time I read Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four and thought to myself how on the money the description was.

It's cute how so many people are so passionately choosing sides on Saudi being a good or bad place to live in.
Many of them may not realize the "backward" genuinely (generally) don't realize they're being so. I have stories to back this theory up.

Now that my generation of super-Halfies are coming up, I wonder if this post will hold true for long.”

President Bush Participates in Roundtable with Saudi Entrepreneurs

In the news: "On January 15, 2008 President Bush met with 10 selected Saudi Entrepreneurs. Drawn from a pool of almost 300 candidates the selection was limited to male or female Saudi Entrepreneurs between the ages of 30 and 40, the only requirement was that they were educated in the USA. Dr. Modi Batterjee was one of the ten selected individuals amongst eight men and only one other female". 


This is one of the major experiences in my life. I received a phone call from the US Embassy in January requesting my attendance at a Roundtable Discussion with President Bush and the US Ambassador. I accepted and had a wonderful experience. I did my best to represent the Muslim and young Saudi communities with the best image possible. I wanted Mr. Bush to know that we are professional people and we can participate in any international setting. Not all of us are terrorists and we deserve to be an active part of this world.


The following is what Mr. Bush had to say at the introduction of the meeting:
THE PRESIDENT: "I'm George W. Bush, President of the United States. (Laughter.) Thank you all for joining us. Ambassador, thanks for setting this up. It's important for the President to hear thoughts, hopes, dreams, aspirations, concerns from folks that are out making a living. And I really appreciate you taking time out of your day to come and visit with me. I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts.
One thing that's for certain: The United States benefits when people come to my country. And one of my concerns was after September the 11th that our visa policy, particularly for Saudis, was tightened to the point where we missed opportunity to show young and old alike what our country is really about. I love the fact that some of you were educated in America. I think you'll find you got a good education there, but more importantly, Americans get to see you, and you get to see them. And the best way to achieve better understanding in the world is for folks just to get together, and get to understand that we share the same God, and we share the same aspirations for children and for our futures.
And so this is an important visit for me. I'm thrilled to be in the Kingdom. I have -- I've got very close relations with His Majesty. We had a good visit last night on a variety of subjects. We talked about Palestinian peace; we talked about the security issues of the region. I talked to the Ambassador, and will again talk to His Majesty tonight about the fact that oil prices are very high, which is tough on our economy, and that I would hope, as OPEC considers different production levels, that they understand that if their -- one of their biggest consumers' economy suffers, it will mean less purchases, less oil and gas sold.
And so we've got a lot of things to talk about, but I want to assure you it's from the spirit of friendship. And the hospitality last night was warm, and the conversation was excellent -- just like this one is going to be. So I want to thank you for coming. I appreciate your time."

That was his opening remark. It was good. I didn’t hate him, but understood why so many did. We were very lucky to have later received letters of gratitude from the president and acknowledgment that we were the reason he decided to impose the revision of the Visa situation and the extension of its length to five years. I felt very excited when I knew that I had participated in making a positive change, one that was so desperately needed.

What the Balad means to me?

I grew up my entire life in a home listening to stories about the balad. I heard stories about my beloved father’s childhood, and how the families of Jeddah lived together. My father regaled his children with the history and the traditions of the old city. He made sure that we knew the family members’ names, relationships, and common traits and characteristics. The history of our family was important to him, the history of their trade and how they came to be one of the first families to import pharmaceuticals into the walled city. He took us on short visits to the old city almost every year for our Eid Al Fitr family outings. It was interesting but quickly got boring.

As an adult and mother of three I loved Jeddah, but to me it meant work, school, Al Baik, the malls, and family obligations.  I never thought of the balad. The balad was a part of the past, a part that was gone, and most certainly not a part of me. I only saw the old city that I often visited with my father as a child on rare occasions when I had to go to the market downtown, and with a swift look I would see Bait Al Batterjee and simply think to myself “that is my Baba’s home”.

Not anymore.

It took a visitor from abroad staying in my parent’s home to make me realize what the balad means to me and what it should mean to my peers and future generations. A few days before my feelings changed I had arranged for a tour of the old city because I had nothing else to entertain my guest with. I figured the time spent there would give us something to do to pass the hours. My father loved the city to the point that he had painted the old structures on the interior walls of his home. My guest had requested an explanation for the beautiful murals, and all I could say was “I will take you there”.

When we arrived at the Bahar gate we were greeted by our tour guide, a son of the balad. A man who had been born there, he grew up there and knew all the historical spots. He explained, pointed out ancient structures, and gave us a brief history lesson of how the balal became what it is today. We started our morning tour with “Gabil street” and ended with the first American Embassy in Jeddah’s history “Bait Al Batterjee”. My heart sank! This house that I had no feelings for suddenly had a meaning. It had a place in the history of Jeddah. It was beautiful, and was located in a very special spot, just like every other house in the city. Each and every structure had a proud family, a story to tell, and a lifetime of history hidden within its walls. How can we turn our backs on our home, or origin, our ancestors? This Balad is where we began, where our fathers were born not long ago. How can we feel so detached? Our city needs us.

Did you know that Al-Balad is divided into four main neighborhoods:
Harat Alsham (The Sham Neighborhood), facing north;
Harat Al-Yaman (The Yemeni Neighborhood), facing south;
Harat Mazloum (The Aggrieved Neighborhood), facing east;
and Harat Al-Bahr (The Sea Neighborhood).

Did you know the Naseef house has 15 rooms on seven floors and was erected about 150 years ago? It was made famous when King Abdulaziz lived there. It was built by Omar Afandi Naseef.

Did you know that the tree in the square outside the front door is now the oldest and was once the only tree in Jeddah? It is said that Ibrahim Batterjee gave that tree as a gift to Omar Nassef. On the ground floor there is a well that collects rainwater. Stairs wide enough to march camels up bringing food supplies, lead up to the kitchen on the top floor; on the roof above is the highest room, the open-sided Al-Teramanah which was used as a dining and smoking area and caught the cool breezes high above the streets. The original owners of the house also used to sleep on the roof in a namousia, a bed covered with a sheer fabric to prevent mosquito bites.

Did you know that the Caliph Othman bin Affan declared it the official port of the Holy Cities? The construction of the wall took place in order to protect Jeddah against the aggressors of that time, such as the Portuguese who, in 1516 AD, laid siege to the city for three months. But, in spite of all, Jeddah continued growing in importance and by 1825 --now under the control of the Ottomans-- began receiving its first diplomatic representatives from Europe (France and Britain). For that reason, it used to be called Bilad al Kanasil (The City of Consulates). It was also known as al-Balad  or just Balad, a name which it still keeps today along with "Old Jeddah”

These questions and facts are only a few. These questions and facts should raise awareness within our generations to seek more information to try to find facts about our home, our origins, and our ancestors; the men and women who lived here for centuries. Our ancestors have much to tell us, to give us pride, and keep up our self confidence and esteem. Now when I visit the balad and I see Bait Al Batterjee my heart screams “that is My baba’s home!”

Cat Fights!

Living in Jeddah I find what they call "cat fights" to be a common occurrence in the female Saudi community.  It seems that women here like to get involved in disputes (I'm generalizing now, please don't get all defensive). Catfights are defined in the dictionary as: noun - a dispute carried out with intense hostility. This I have experienced myself directly or indirectly several times without even knowing that I was involved. 

A woman may wake up one morning to a friend's phone call and suddenly find herself in the middle of a social crisis of rumors, accusations, and assaults. She wouldn't know where it came from. Disoriented, she might begin to call other friends to investigate the origin only making the matter worse, framing her as a gossip. She may have, at a point in the past, casually and unintentionally mentioned an incident or observation about a friend to another friend. Those casual words would have been carried from ear to ear creating a false monster out of her. She, being the true victim is accused of spreading rumors about that friend ruining their valuable friendship forever. NOTHING is taken lightly here. Gradually, she will be excised from the group because other common friends will begin to be cautious around her not including her in social functions "just incase". Unfortunately, the true culprit may be another woman who decided at one point in their acquaintance that this presumable attractive woman is a threat to her marriage, that may be because her husband mentioned briefly how intelligent he thought she was. This comment by the husband has stirred up a storm within the wife's heart creating a wicked strategy that will scar that intelligent woman's social life forever. 

Lately, these pictures have been shared though Facebook and Blackberry indicating to me that this is a true social issue. I wish that the women in this community saw each other as compatriots, protecting and sharing instead of competing and destroying. Women are strong beings and in Saudi we are at a dire state where national transformation and growth are forcing us into professional roles and more productive positions that need us to be on our best behavior. However if we can not support each-other socially as sisters and friends how can we support ourselves in our changing society. 

If you've ever been a victim of this kind of social catastrophe such as the fictional woman in the example above I recommend repeating the following positive self affirmation. It will help you build your internal self esteem.

 "I don’t care. I really don’t care. People can say whatever they want to say about me because I know in my heart that if I suddenly dropped dead the only One I would answer to is happy with me. I have a clean heart and a good intention. I give everyone and anyone that crosses my path my fullest attention and with all sincerity. I give from the depths of my heart, I am earnest, I believe in transparency, and I really care. I care for myself enough to be truthful to anyone and everyone. I am strong enough to be myself. I am strong enough to show myself for what I am. I don’t hide my past, my present, or my future.

Those of you who fear this transparency see it as a threat because you have so much to hide. You have so many skeletons in your closets, so much dirt under your carpets. My transparency scares you because it makes you feel bad. You feel bad because you can’t be like me. My strength of self threatens you. You have no self confidence and no self value.

The only way to make you feel better is to talk about me. To bring me down, to scratch on my image and make it ugly, just like you. However, the brutal truth is “You can’t”. You can never turn a diamond into stone. You can never bring me down. You can never do anything to me."



It is very crucial to keep your mouth shut, isolate yourself socially, or learn the creative and conniving ways of the Saudi Woman in order to survive this society (again I'm generalizing, please don't get hostile on me and I would appreciate it if you didn't accuse me of mental instability. Im just saying).  Best of luck to all you Saudi Ladies. I would like to send a special thank you to those of you who have been good friends, and sisters to me. We would not be able to survive if we didn't have each-other.