Review and edit of beginning 1994–Too polite

Each week I post old stories for those who have not read them, also editing them as I go- Last week- At the end of our tour he mentioned a tiny detail, as he always did, to make sure I understood and accepted, no electricity. The building was finished but waiting for a simple hook up which would be coming any day. Until that time, it was rent free and electricity was supplied from the building next door. The atmosphere and ability to view the outside world precluded logic and in reality the decision had already been made. I had no idea that days would turn into months, enduring temperatures as high as 115 degrees, struggling with hours of no a/c, no lights and no way to cook on the swap meet stove.



We said goodbye to the villa, I kissed Um Abdullah (Saudi neighbor living downstairs) on each cheek and gave her my regards. We barely understood each other but she was a light for me in what had become a dark abyss. She offered her home, her phone and brought me tea and sweets on her visits. Looking back I can imagine it pained her to see nothing on top of nothing. For Arabs this would be considered a shame, something I didn’t know until years later when I watched young brides move into fully furnished apartments, new wardrobes filled with dresses, shoes and gold sets. One evening days before we moved, Um Abdullah sent her son to tell him(husband) that she would make a visit to see me. He (husband) rushed up the stairs and once again whispered to me, “make sure to shut the doors, she cannot see that we have no beds”  so being the dutiful wife that I had become, I did as I was told. Even with the bedroom doors secured, Um Abdullah had to have noticed, the lack of typical adornments, pictures and doodads that Arab ladies place proudly around their residence. Instead a single large cloth was haphazardly tacked to the plywood that had been nailed up where an a/c should have been. We sat chatting, eating  biscuits and drinking the mint tea she carried on the ornate gold tray.  A kiss, kiss and words of God’s protection were exchanged until her black coat disappeared down the stairs and into her villa. I waved goodbye to her and to the villa as the huge brightly colored truck drove off down the road ending that first chapter of our life in Saudi.

Summer temperatures steadily rose to 115 degrees, opening the large picture windows in hopes of a breeze, only brought dust and sand and little relief.  Days wore on as we waited for electricity to come, but days turned into weeks and eventually months. Our building was hooked up to a neighboring complex and took whatever power was left over. So after an hour of morning chores I could hear the dreaded thud and chug as the a/c abruptly shut down, signaling the end to electricity for an undetermined amount of time.  An air conditioner was purchased before we moved to the apartment under the proviso that it be used only on low and intermittent.  In order to obtain this much needed item I agreed and followed the terms for usage. This is how our life progressed, a measured step forward with many stipulations. My baby was 6 months old and woke frequently at night so at 5 a.m. I took the opportunity to start my morning routine.  I vacuumed and started a wash, hung it on the drying rack and prepared the afternoon meal. A good day meant finishing morning chores and getting a meal started for the day. An average day was met with power being spotty and nothing much being accomplished before the discontinuation of electricity.  We were the only tenants who lived in the building and an eeery feeling fell over the apartment when lights had gone and clicking could be heard in the hallways just outside the door. Prospective renters walked the halls, looking at various units and then just as they had entered, they exited. The children entertained themselves, running and playing tag through the empty apartment, carting each other on the back of a tricycle their aunt had purchased and making forts out of the bed pads. I passed time, looking out the large, clear windows, taxis sped past, workers washed cars with a rag and bucket in hand and feral cats rummaged through the garbage dumpsters.

A few weeks after moving in, a cousin who lived in Riyadh, came and brought his family for dinner. In Arab society it is obligatory to visit and congratulate people when any significant life event occurs.We had no real furniture, but hospitality being what is is in the middle east, no one can be refused. I was to cook a large dinner for them and started on it as early as possible. With no electricity and a stove that barely functioned, this was a difficult task that I spread out over several days time. When they arrived, the woman, Um Tarik (mother of Tarik) came into the family room with her four children. She greeted me, removed her scarf and coat and sat, positioning herself directly in front of the a/c.  We chatted back and forth in bits and pieces of English and Arabic. She fanned herself and tended to her younger ones, pushing them to join my kids, riding the rickety blue trike. After the initial niceties, awkward silence set in and the language barrier once again became evident.  I told her I had to check on dinner and left, shutting the kitchen door behind me. Minutes later the door flew open and Um Tarik entered, she looked around and smiled in approval of the cheery white cupboards with bright red trim, but just as quickly she seemed to search for something. Her eyes darted towards the a/c in the living room and she moved swiftly, twisting knobs, shifting the vents and putting this machine into high mode. I stood watching her, feeling the wave of cool air as it dried the sweat that had pooled under my eyes. I felt a twinge of worry and walked to meet her, cautiously and politely explaining the rules for proper usage, which were my job to enforce. Turning the a/c to high and opening the door was a waste of cool air, it would be automatically sucked into the kitchen and wasted on cooling.  I adjusted the knobs back to the appropriate settings,  shut the door and returned to my work. Um Tarik repeated her previous actions and ended her movements by flinging the door open once more and tying the door knob to the kitchen counters with a string she removed from the onion bag. She ended her tirade but stood firmly in her place, “Um Osama,you, too polite, he will come to this Mutbukh (kitchen) and cook instead of you”???


119 thoughts on “Review and edit of beginning 1994–Too polite

  1. I would have gone mad. However, they say there is no cloud without a silver lining and, without going into the whole thing about what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger (which obviously applies in your case!) but you did get something out of it: a voice and a story to tell! Keep at it. Hugs, xxx Marina

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Honestly, I do not know how you survived, I do not know if I could have. One strong woman you are, and I am thankful there was someone that saw what you were going through and wanted to help. Thanks Lynn for sharing these stories! 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  3. your amazing….I think that you could achieve anything you put your mind to…..your an amazing woman….I am surprised the women didn’t chew him a new one when they say how you were living…love the pictures of the kids…your certainly have good looking boys and girls….and Seattle is always magical to me….absolute beauty for sure…..xxxxkat

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  4. The more I read, the more I know your strength and grit.. You learned and adapted and now you are free.. You may have PTSD, if so, I’m confident you will overcome that as well.. I’m humbled by what you have lived though..

    Liked by 1 person

  5. So many things you had to cope with Lynz.. I was pleased at least Um Tarik saw what you were going through even though nothing probably changed..
    I read through several comments and within each post you grow ever higher in my estimation of courage and strength that kept you going throughout all you were subjected too.. Kudos too you Lynz

    Liked by 1 person

      • I think Lynz, we are conditioned to take blame and guilt.. Even when we know it is not our fault.. We would sooner bare the brunt of such emotions..
        I know from my own experiences with my Mother.. I was made to feel the guilty party.. Yet this wasn’t so.. Yet even though it took many years to shed this guilt.. the sadness and hollow feeling that surrounds my thoughts of these times are hard to describe.. Writing as you do is a release to these emotions.. and I know with time the guilt we diminish for you have given your children a whole new world in which to grow.. This in itself is a reason to rejoice and be thankful that you had the courage to leave.. You are strong! and You are courageous.. Your children are blessed to have you for their Mom..

        Liked by 1 person

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