Convocation

At the end of our district convocation at the Dahrhan campus we made our way through the gate, returning our visitor pass lanyards to the guards through a little drawer at the bottom of a window where they then returned the identification left when we'd arrived. Just outside was a long narrow walkway covered by a canopy to shield us from the sun as we waited for the van to collect us for transport back to our villa.

It was a busy area of women and children waiting for rides, some clumsily donning their abayas and others, like us, climbing into white Toyota passenger vans where we buckled our seat belts, the sweat evaporated from our bodies and gave our lives to the drivers, men who did battle everyday on the roads of Dammam and Al Khobar where it seems no traffic rules are followed and vehicles honked their horns, jostled for position, slowed down, sped up, avoided collision and encountered close calls, all as a matter of course.

Just as we pulled away, my friend motioned for me to look down into the small white car alongside us where a woman sat in the passenger seat, her head and body entirely covered in black except for the small eye opening in her niqab. She was the senior member of a department at the high school, always beautifully covered in layers of colorful fabric and her head perfectly wrapped, covering her hair, ears and neck framing her face alone. She spoke confidently and with purpose and it was clear that her colleagues respected her judgement. I exchanged a glance with her, looking for what I'd heard as she turned from us and her husband pulled away from the side of our van and we turned and made our way back to the compound.

Swimming at Night

Last night I swam outside in the pool while the full Arabian moon hung overhead and the call to prayer sounded in the distance. A few BAE guys were gathered around the outdoor restaurant gesturing with their arms and reacting to one another with facial expressions I couldn't read. The air was thick and heavy and pushed me back to Waukenabo and a Minnesota night when I had the same view as this Middle Eastern one. Clay and Ann hung on the side of the pool and chatted with Amy, slowly getting to know one another. Carolyn swam alone on the other end of the pool taking in all of the changes that brought her to this place. Chris had left earlier, frustrated, he walked home after returning from an excursion to purchase a guitar from a local vendor where neither the quality nor the price were satisfactory, but what could he do? He wanted to make music and so far this was all there was. Until we have our iqamas and feel our feet beneath us, the uncertainty will remain.

Traveller

A small tuft of bog has broken loose and drifted into the center of the lake. It looks lost and alone as it moves further from its source. This is the natural order of things it seems, a conspicuous separation, an imperceptible severing of the fibers and humus and peat, the loose strands hanging bare and exposed in the deep water, the dry grasses bent in the stiff wind , new grass bright green and thick hugs the surface of the hummock as it drifts with a wind toward a new margin somewhere across the lake.