No Way Home

by M S James

  Two weeks later she presented me with my lovely dark blue passport adorned with purple, green and orange stamps, and rubber-inked stampings also in purple and green for good measure. The stamps were liberally decorated in Arabic handwriting, hopefully including Anna, Jake and myself in the EXIT & RE-ENTRY VISA. ‘This says all three of us can go and come back?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she sighed. There was no ‘of course’ about it so I delivered it to Philip’s office on the way home for the Arab-speaking office manager to check that they had done it right this time. They had. I could now go ahead and book my flights and make another hole in our savings. AAC provided the family with return flights once a year so my mid-year jolly would have to be paid for by us. To cut the cost, I discovered I could get cheap flights with Egyptair flying out of Dhahran on the east coast, flying to London with a stopover in Cairo. That’ll be nice, I thought. We might have time to see the Pyramids. The internal flight from Riyadh to Dhahran wasn’t too expensive, making the overall cost considerably less than travelling direct with Saudia, the Saudi national airline.

  It occurred to me that perhaps when I was in England I should get individual passports made for the children. If, for any reason, Philip needed to travel to the UK with the children he couldn’t go without me since they were both on my passport. To this end I paid a visit to a local photographic shop to have passport photos taken. The results were extraordinary. Anna looked like a little Arab child. It being a black and white photo, Anna’s brown hair looked dark but her pale green eyes didn’t register as being light coloured. Even Jake, with his sun-bleached blond hair, looked Middle Eastern. For no very good reason I had my photo taken as well and the resulting snap made me look a born and bred Egyptian. With several copies of each I was prepared for a visit to the passport office in England. We wouldn’t be able to use the new passports returning to Saudi but we should be able to get exit visas stamped in them for the home visit in the summer.

  The days to our departure dragged by. I couldn’t wait to go. I paid a visit to the gold souk to buy gifts for my mother and Philip’s. Anna chose a pretty pair of stud earrings in the shape of flowers so that if she had her ears pierced in England, she would have earrings ready to wear. A couple of hand-embroidered tablecloths with matching napkins completed my purchases and I started packing. Stupidly, I decided to wear all my gold on the journey home, thinking that it would be safer round my neck than in a suitcase that might be broken into. It was a decision I was to regret.

  At last, the children and I set off to the airport with Philip. It was only five months since our arrival and in that time my world had been turned upside down, flattened and put through the wringer. But Saudi hadn’t got the better of me – not yet.

  We dropped off our baggage, kissed Philip goodbye and set off for Egypt. We hadn’t been seated on the internal flight for more than a few minutes when a steward came to enquire if the children wanted to visit the pilots in the cockpit. ‘Ooh yes!’ said Jake. Anna took his hand and went with him to the front. Minutes later the steward came to ask if I would like to see the cockpit. I readily accepted the invitation and soon found myself at the business end of the plane. The pilots were in their seats ready for take-off and the children were agog at the myriad of dials and switches banked before them.

  The chief pilot turned in his seat towards me. ‘Your daughter is very beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I smiled.

  ‘I wanted to check the mother, to see how she will grow up,’ he continued.

  I didn’t know what to say to this remark so muttered, ‘Oh, um, oh.’

  ‘How much to buy her?’

  I stared at him dumbfounded. Had I heard him right?

  He repeated, ‘How much to buy your daughter?’

  He wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t joking, he was deadly serious. Looking straight into my eyes he brazened out his preposterous question.

  ‘What?!’ I demanded. Despite not wanting to offend him, I couldn’t stop myself sounding shocked.

  Once more, ‘How much to buy your daughter?’ He continued looking directly into my eyes arrogantly assured that he could ask such a disgusting question.

  I did not want us to be thrown off the plane by causing a scene so I restrained myself from shouting at him.

  ‘She is not for sale.’ My voice was cold and barely hid the revulsion I felt for him. I turned to Jake and Anna. ‘Right-oh, you two, back to your seats.’ I ushered them out and left without a backward glance. Sitting down, I found I was shaking. ‘Did the pilot want to buy Anna?’ asked Jake. ‘No, of course not, darling. He just has a strange sense of humour.’ Anna seemed oblivious of her value as a commodity and chatted away as though nothing untoward had happened. This was a very stark warning that I was in a country where the norms of British behaviour could not be relied upon. I should have heeded the warning and headed home for good.

  The rest of the journey to Dhahran and then on to Cairo was, mercifully, uneventful. The Egyptair flight was full of British expats who had been working in the oil fields of the eastern region. They were frequent fliers on this airline and were old hands at demanding the best available accommodation in Cairo. On hearing that we were going to be taken to a particular hotel for the night they started loudly complaining and demanding that it was the ‘Novotel or nothing. We’re not getting off the coach unless we go to the Novotel.’ After a hurried, whispered discussion, the flight representative gave the driver instructions to take us to the Novotel hotel. The Awkward Squad gave a great cheer and peace was restored.

  The Novotel was rather nice. Our room had twin king-sized beds and modern fittings. It looked down into a central atrium where a large sparkling pool enticed us for a swim. ‘Can we?’ asked Jake but we had no swimwear with us and it was rather late. ‘No, I’m afraid not but I’m hoping we can take a trip to the Pyramids tomorrow.’ Our following flight was not until the next evening so we might be able to get to Giza and back in time. We went to make enquiries and to get some food.

  The concierge in the foyer said that one of their preferred taxis, indicating a row of taxis by the entrance, would be very happy to drive us to and from the Pyramids at Giza the following morning. Yes, the driver would wait whilst we visited the site and no, there would be no extra charge. There was a set charge for the trip so I could budget accordingly. I set aside the taxi fare and calculated that I might have enough for a guided trip around the Pyramids and then enough left over for a cup of tea. Some hope.

  Straight after breakfast, we made our way to the taxi rank and met our driver for the day. He was not unlike Angelo – a round smiley face and a friendly demeanour. The car quickly took us along the Nile Corniche and then over the great river itself. I had a friend whose preferred dress colour was eau de Nil which I thought of as a soft bluey green but that was nothing like the real thing which flowed a sludgy grey beneath us. Our driver said, ‘Al Nil,’ pointing at the river.

  ‘The River Nile?’ I replied.

  ‘What river?’ he asked. ‘Al Nil.’

  It suddenly dawned on me that the Arabic for river was Nil and we were crossing The River. It had no other name since there was no other river, just as Sahara means desert in Arabic. To say Sahara Desert to an Egyptian is to say Desert Desert!

  Giza was no longer in the desert, despite the photos you see of the Pyramids. The greatest structures of the ancient world were surrounded by suburban Cairo. The famously pyramidal shapes appeared above the houses of Giza and we found ourselves marvelling at the massive structures far sooner than I had expected.

  We got out of the taxi and set off towards the Great Pyramid. Before we had got very far we were assailed by a group of camel drivers who invited us to tour the site on a camel.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Two camels? One hundred pounds.’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Egyptian pounds. Good price.’

 
; I looked at my taxi driver who said it was OK. Jake was thrilled at the prospect of a camel ride and I was keen not to have to walk further than necessary in the morning heat. We had never had the chance to ride on a camel in Saudi, even though there were plenty around. Not having a tourist industry, the Saudis didn’t see the point of setting up camel trails for the expats. Mounting a camel was interesting. They sat on the ground with their long legs tucked under them so getting up into the saddles with the aid of a pair of steps wasn’t too difficult. Jake was on one beast and Anna and I were on the other one. To stand up, the camel raises its back legs and hurls the rider forward. Just as you think you are about to hit the dust, it straightens its front legs and hurls you back. This caused great hilarity amongst the camel drivers who, no doubt, got their daily quotient of laughter from watching their unsuspecting customers. We hung on grimly and set off towards the Sphinx on our circumnavigation of the Pyramids. The camels were led by a lad on a donkey so I was fairly confident that the camels wouldn’t charge off with us on top.

  It is well known that the Pyramids are made from large blocks of stone, but when you are right next to one, you cannot begin to imagine how they were manoeuvred into position. They are so massive that they are as large as houses. The camels plodded around on their well-worn circuit until we arrived back at the Sphinx and made loud roaring grumblings whilst they settled down on the ground. We hung on mightily this time as their legs folded front then aft and we were able to dismount.

  I was about to pay for the trip when, ‘Madam would like a glass of tea and visit our perfume factory?’ enquired the camel owner. The group of drivers grinned at me manically. What possessed me to accept their invitation, I’ll never know. They weren’t actually looking at me, but rather at the several gold necklaces festooned about my neck. I was obviously Very Rich. We entered the ‘perfume factory’ which was, essentially, a shed furnished in soft sofas with walls covered in shelving containing bottles and bottles of perfume. A glass of tea was proffered, with sugary soft drinks for the children. The next twenty minutes passed in a blur. Which perfume did I like? Would I like this one? Or perhaps this other one? At regular intervals they somehow abstracted money from me. Even as they did it, I couldn’t account for how it was happening. They had perfected the art of fleecing the tourist to the nth degree. Eventually I got a grip, stood up and announced that I was going. ‘But, madam, we have more perfumes!’

  ‘You’ve got ALL my money so there’s no point in me being here any longer.’ I took each child by the hand and marched them out, tramping off towards the taxi rank. Thank God my driver was still there. The driver stood looking at me anxiously. He feared the worst. ‘Madam, I was afraid when you went to the perfume shop.’

  ‘I wish you had warned me about them. They have taken all my money.’

  He looked at me aghast. ‘All your money?!’

  ‘Well, all of my money, not yours. I had hidden yours in a secret place.’ His face relaxed and he sighed with relief. His money had been folded into my bra so his fare might be somewhat moist but it would be the full amount. ‘So, I have nothing more. You had better take us back to the hotel. I might be able to persuade them to give me a cup of tea.’

  ‘I will take you to my home for refreshments,’ he smiled. ‘My madam is at home. She will give you tea and cakes.’ Later, when I was recounting this tale to Philip, he stared at me hard and said that I was completely crackers. ‘You actually went with him?’

  ‘Well, we were hungry and thirsty. And penniless.’

  The taxi driver took us through the City of the Dead, an area of Cairo composed of large ornate tombs with families gathered around the bases of them. To my amazement, they appeared to be picnicking. The driving in central Cairo was the worst I have ever encountered. Cars from several directions funnelled into one main thoroughfare with no give or take by any of the drivers. They just bellowed obscenities at each other and, with arms outstretched through their windows, hammered violently on neighbouring cars whilst keeping the other hand permanently on the horn. Taking advantage of the stationary traffic, one heavily scarred young man pressed his burned torso against our window and thrust a hand through the driver’s window begging for money. It was all ghastly. Eventually, we bumped along an unmade road in the middle of what looked like a building site. There were streets of half-built apartment blocks with rubble and building materials lying around haphazardly. ‘This is my apartment,’ said our driver with a degree of pride. I thought he was joking. It was clearly a partially built block with no doors or windows. We climbed rubble-filled stairs to the first floor and I thought I had made another bad mistake. But there was a door and, on entering, we found ourselves in an ornately furnished apartment with a very surprised madam sitting at the table with her little baby in her arms. Our driver explained our dilemma to her and in no time at all we were given tea, drinks and a variety of cakes. They were so very friendly and charming. Madam couldn’t speak English and my Arabic was still too basic to communicate. But I made cooing noises at the baby and we all smiled a lot.

  Thoroughly refreshed, we were taken back to our hotel where I extracted a roll of Egyptian pounds from my ‘secret place’ and wished our driver all the best. He and his wife had redeemed my hitherto underwhelmed opinion of his countrymen.

  Home

  England in February was dismal yet delightful. It was good to be back amongst people who behaved in predictable ways. You could relax knowing that, by and large, people followed the rules, be it queuing at shop counters, them saying sorry when you bumped into them, or chatting about the weather at bus stops. And yet, when one damp day followed another, we missed the bright days and trips out to the desert. My friends wanted to know all about my experiences but it was difficult to explain in a way that fully expressed the strangeness of what I had experienced. Several teacher friends were stunned by the awfulness of the Madrassa and wondered at my resolve to return. ‘I have to,’ I explained. ‘We shan’t see Philip until the summer if we don’t.’

  My mother was thrilled to see me and doted on the children. ‘I’ve missed you so much but it won’t be long now. You’ve done half the year and you’ll soon be home for good.’ Anna had her arms wrapped around her nana and I could see that having us living far away was a wrench for Mum. Philip and I had discussed staying on for a second year if I could get out of the Madrassa’s clutches and get a job at the SAIS. However, I didn’t want to cast a cloud over the future and it might not happen.

  Philip’s parents lived in Peterborough so I combined a visit to them with one to the passport office, which was conveniently in the same part of town. With the forms filled and photos provided, I parted with a substantial fee and was told to return later in the day to collect the new passports.

  Philip’s parents were delighted to see us. They had lived in the Sudan during the early years of their marriage and Philip had been born in Khartoum. We compared notes on living in a desert country amongst Arabs. They had lived a fairly privileged life, being part of the British-run government, but mod cons had been of a basic design back then in a post-war Middle East. Travel to and from was arduous, with several flights required to get back to England. They marvelled that we could travel in our car across Arabia if we had a mind to. They remembered the sandstorms and sleeping out under the stars. My mother-in-law was very pleased with the gold necklace I had brought back for her although she was alarmed by my tale of carrying it around my neck whilst visiting Giza. ‘You could have been robbed!’ she said. ‘Hmmm,’ I replied.

  The head of my old school was amused by my need to take the old Ladybird reading scheme back to Saudi. He was glad to get rid of it to a good cause and I was relieved that I would now be able to teach my young pupils to read. The illustrations of Peter and Jane (and Pat the dog) showed an idyllic England of the 1950s, so unlike anything my pupils would have experienced. I had a spare suitcase and filled it up. It weighed a ton and would probably take up mos
t of our luggage allowance. Since, on our return to Saudi, we were heading for hot weather, I didn’t need to take heavy clothing so the allowance could all be taken up with books. I just hoped that the security officials at Riyadh airport wouldn’t see fit to impound them.

  One day on a trip into the town centre, I asked Anna if she wanted to have her ears pierced.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied with enthusiasm. ‘I can wear my little gold flowers.’ I had brought them back from Saudi ready for use. It was a wet day and she had spotted in a toy shop a bright red child’s umbrella which, although not a Hello Kitty umbrella, was eminently desirable. ‘Well, I’ll think about it later,’ I assured her. She sat in a comfy chair in the earring shop ready for the hole-punching operation. The poor child had no idea what was coming and promptly screamed like a stuck pig when the first hole had been made. She looked at me in the mirror through tears that were pouring down her face. ‘You didn’t say!’ she shouted at me. ‘It hurt!’

  ‘Yes, darling, but it will soon be better. Look, Mummy has earrings and you’ll find they’ll soon be better.’ It then dawned on her that there was another hole to be made.

  ‘No, Mummy! Please no!’ She scrambled out of the chair ready to run out of the shop. I caught her and sat her on my lap trying to coax her into having the other ear done. ‘You can’t go around with only one earring,’ I reasoned.

  ‘Don’t care,’ she sobbed. Eventually, she calmed down and I mentioned the red umbrella.

  There was silence then she said, ‘Can I have it now?’

  ‘Yes, just as soon as we leave the shop and you have both ears done.’ She sniffed and hickupped and weighed up the pros and cons. I felt like Judas in my betrayal of her trust and wished I hadn’t started on the whole business in the first place. However, in a second, the hole could be made and we would be off to the toy shop. I nodded to the assistant who fired the bolt through the other earlobe and the job was done, bar the screaming. A pair of gold ‘sleepers’ were put through the holes whilst they were healing and the gold flowers could go in shortly after. The red umbrella was promptly purchased and put to use. Feeling the need to atone for my cruel behaviour, Anna had the pick of several other desirable toys as some sort of recompense.