by M S James
Archie came around to collect us for supper a couple of times a week but conversation was limited. The subjects I most wanted to talk about were off limits whilst Jake was listening. Every time I broached the subject of Philip’s imprisonment with Jake, I balked at the thought of the effect that it would have on him. He was daily suffering the trauma of his sister’s abduction, heaven only knew what effect his father’s incarceration would have.
Then, two weeks into our new ordeal, Philip unexpectedly arrived at our villa. Hani came in with him just as Jake and I were settling down to watch a video. To say we were shocked, delighted and amazed would be an understatement.
‘Daddy! You’ve been away for ages! I’ve got a new BAGA badge!’ Jake shrieked. The BAGA badges were given for attaining various levels by the British Amateur Gymnastics Association which were taught at the British School. Jake was dead keen.
‘That’s great!’ laughed his father. ‘Glad to hear you’ve been busy!’
‘Poo, Daddy, you smell very funny,’ noted Jake as he pulled out of Philip’s embrace.
‘Yes, there wasn’t much water where I’ve been. I shall have a shower just as soon as I’ve said hello to Mummy.’
I held Philip tight and kissed him in welcome. I looked at him and Hani questioningly as if to say, ‘How has this happened?’
‘Jake, you carry on with the video whilst I talk to Daddy and Hani,’ I suggested, leaving him engrossed in ‘Bicycle Boy’, his name for Breaking Away, his favourite film. We went into the dining room and I was put in the picture. Hani had received a call from the Guard to say that the matter of the nationality of the subcontractor had been resolved and therefore Philip and Luke were now free to go home. Hani had collected both men, dropping Luke off at his house en route to ours.
‘Well, how magnanimous of them,’ I fumed. ‘Just like that! They stuff you into prison on a whim and let you out on another. How arbitrary can you get?’
‘Well, there was a lot of, how you say, wheeling and dealing to get Luke and Philip released,’ explained Hani.
‘But,’ added Philip, ‘it turns out that Al Yamani aren’t Yemeni after all, they’re Saudi!’
I knew then we would have to get out of the Kingdom as soon as was possible before any more disasters befell us. But… could I leave Anna there on her own? The mere thought of it made my blood turn cold. How could we abandon our precious child? But what would be the price of staying? Already Jake was showing signs of stress. His benighted parents were losing weight, looking hollow-eyed, ever watchful for the next crisis and living in terror that their daughter would be found dead. Whichever way we turned there appeared to be no satisfactory solution. Sometimes, problems don’t have solutions just equally nasty options.
Philip went off to shower the prison residue from his body whilst I put all his clothes in a hot wash cycle. After Jake had kissed his father goodnight we settled down for a heart-to-heart talk, but before a few minutes passed Philip had nodded off. He was desperate for a good lengthy sleep so decisions, nasty or otherwise, would have to wait.
Limbo
Our discussions regarding The Future tended to be brief, running on a well-worn track.
‘I want to go home.’
‘Without Anna?’
Sigh, from me. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Why do you want to go?’
‘I hate this place. I don’t feel safe here. I am constantly waiting for the next catastrophe.’
‘Perhaps we’ll be fine from now on.’
‘Perhaps we won’t.’ I wanted to say that bad things happen in threes, but Philip would have dismissed such a remark as superstitious claptrap. ‘Anyway,’ I added, ‘I would have thought that time spent in a Saudi jail would have made you very nervous about the unpredictability of the people you work for and the substantial power they have to punish people who cross them.’
Evidently, his spell in clink had not reduced Philip to the same level of anxiety as I harboured. He would give me a reassuring hug and promise that ‘things would sort themselves out’. I was grieving for my child but had no idea if the situation would ever have a conclusion. I occasionally caught myself in the mirror and was dismayed how gaunt I was looking. I had been slim and had a healthy appearance prior to Anna’s disappearance but I could see the strain was gradually taking its toll. Having Philip back eased the situation but it wouldn’t take much to unnerve me again. Philip buried himself in work and kept his demons at bay by concentrating on what he could control rather than what he couldn’t.
And so, we carried on through this fog of guilt and grief, going through the motions of family life until yet more unwelcome news arrived.
I could see Philip had something difficult to tell me and was havering about how best to go about it. ‘For the time being,’ he started, ‘the contractors would like a more continuous input from me.’
‘Meaning what?’ I asked.
‘They would like me to be based on site to see the project through the initial stages.’
‘You mean, you living near Dammam and Jake and me in Riyadh? Terrific. That’s not much different for us than when you were in jail.’
‘Except you will know that I am not in jail and I shall be able to come home for the weekends.’
I sat and stared at him with my arms folded. ‘Do you really have to go?’
‘The alternative is for me to go over several times a week, getting up at the crack of dawn and getting back late. Besides, you know what the Dammam Road is like.’
I did indeed. The Dammam Road was known to the expats as ‘Death Alley’. It was a single-lane road in each direction, heavily used by huge trucks bringing vast quantities of everything from the docks at Dammam and Dhahran to Riyadh. Many of the trucks were beautifully decorated in a variety of designs with extraneous gadgets and mirrors attached. However, they were probably not mechanically sound and liable to break down. They drove dreadfully slowly forcing other drivers to dive past them before an oncoming truck appeared over the next rise in the road. The actual road was several metres above the surrounding desert so if you were forced off the carriageway you plunged down a precipice, ending nose down in the sand. Vertical trucks were a common sight as you progressed along the road although it was wise not to look at them for long.
‘How long is this going to go on for?’ I wanted to know.
‘Maybe until the summer. But you’ll be going back to England anyway in a couple of months. You won’t want to be here after the end of term – it will be far too hot.’
‘You’ll be in Saudi through the summer?’ I asked.
‘I’ll have three weeks’ leave and can join you at home.’
‘So, you want to come back and stay here for another year?’
This was a conversation that we had not yet entered into but Philip had evidently been giving it some thought. ‘It would put our finances on a much sounder footing and, of course, I would be in the Kingdom if there was any news about Anna. I could keep in regular contact with the police and the embassy. You could get Jake into school in England for next September and come out here for the half-term break, Christmas and so on.’
I didn’t say much for a while; there were too many ramifications working their way through my mind to either agree or disagree.
‘Will Hani allow you to keep our villa?’
‘I will ask him.’
‘Would AAC still pay for our flights?’
‘I will ask Hani. If not, you’ll have to make your visits via Cairo. There’s lots to see there, I believe!’
And so it came to pass. I had brought the children and myself out to Saudi Arabia so that we could all be together but we would be entering a phase when we would be torn asunder. I could think of no better arrangement, so finally agreed.
My final few months in Saudi passed in a routine of morning school for Jake and me and afternoons of variou
s diversions to keep boredom at bay. If only I could have driven our car things would have been easier. I had been given a generous allocation of Angelo’s time but I felt trapped in our villa. The temperature seemed to increase daily and trips down to the souk by bus became arduous. I was glad to know that I was not going to be in the country when the worst of the heat arrived.
Weekends were as active as we could make them; Jake loved having his dad around and sometimes we felt like our old family. Thursday trips to Hash walks and picnics resumed when the heat of the day subsided. I felt less enamoured of the desert now, knowing its unpredictable and dangerous changes of mood. Dear John and Becky generally invited us to their compound where we could relax and pretend that we were in a normal country.
My visits to the police station were never productive. Sometimes I had lengthy interviews with our inspector who said, basically, they had drawn a blank. Anna had disappeared into thin air. He could give me no encouragement that the situation would improve. After these visits I felt in a state of despair.
Easter was even more of a non-event than Christmas. The Madrassa carried on as usual but the British School broke up for a week. I could think of no alternative than to ask Sayyida Samah if Jake could come to the Madrassa with me for that week. She smiled and said, ‘No problem,’ and for a change, it wasn’t. Jake was very curious to see my school and somewhat shocked at the paucity of school paraphernalia available to the pupils, not to mention the forbidding classroom with no artwork on display or interesting posters and very little reading matter. However, he got on well with the boys in my class and they enjoyed playing football with him out in the yard during breaktime. Being older, he was well ahead of the class academically and worked through books loaned to me from the British School. He also enjoyed helping my children with their schoolwork.
One day Sayyida Samah stopped me to ask if I would be renewing my contract for the next academic year. I was quite pleased to think they actually wanted me. What with my somewhat antagonistic attitude towards the ethos of the school and the time I had taken off from my teaching duties when Anna had disappeared, I had thought they would like to see the back of me. Not so. ‘I’m afraid I shall not be renewing my contract,’ I replied with regret, ‘in fact I shall not be returning to Saudi after the summer break.’
‘You will leave your child behind?’ She had unerringly pressed the Buckle Knees and Start Weeping button. Through a blur of tears, I muttered something incomprehensible and went off to my classroom. I knew that when I finally got on the plane home I would leave my heart behind.
The British staff at the Madrassa still congregated outside Mr Sayyid’s hut to swap intelligence, so much so that we called ourselves The Escape Committee. We could all see that freedom from the Madrassa and Saudi Arabia was within sight but as with all schools, the nearer the end of term came, the further away it seemed to be. Some would be coming back in September and others had worked out a way of getting jobs at the British School. The British School was wary of taking staff directly from the Madrassa in case they were accused of poaching staff, which in turn might have led the authorities to close down the school. Each company, be it a school, medical health centre or engineering consultants relied entirely on its Saudi sponsor for its viability. It was they who had the power to obtain entry and exit visas and were responsible to the authorities for how that company conducted itself. However, there was a pecking order of influence between each sponsor so if your sponsor happened to be a high-ranking minister or a wealthy potentate, your company could outflank another company by pulling rank. The Madrassa’s sponsor must have been very influential because the British School was very nervous of upsetting them. Nevertheless, some Madrassa staff who were not reliant on the Madrassa for their housing and flights, such as myself, could work for a small expat-run nursery for a few months before applying for a much-desired teaching post at the British School.
The Escape Committee were circumspect about enquiring what were my plans for the future. They fully sympathised with my predicament and were heartily grateful that they didn’t have to deal with it. I indicated that I was going to leave the Madrassa and become semi-detached from the Kingdom. AAC’s previous inability to get me entry and exit visas seemed to have resolved itself, so I hoped that future visits would be hassle-free.
Most of the committee’s concerns were with the end of term’s exit visa – would it be produced on time? Would we get paid in time to buy flights or if the Madrassa was paying for them, could they be converted into cash so that people could organise their own journeys out of the Kingdom? One intrepid couple with young children bought themselves an ‘all terrain, four-wheel drive’ so that they could drive home to England. Not a journey that could be contemplated in later years when the whole of the Middle East turned into a dangerous and violent area.
A bonus would be paid to ‘exemplary’ staff, which I had no chance of getting. I considered myself lucky I still had a job after my recent erratic appearances. Most of us suspected that our less than compliant attitudes would count against an extra payment – but it was worth it not to be used as doormats.
As term drew to an end I applied to Sayyida Samah for exit visas for myself, Jake and Anna. If, by some miracle, she was found at the last minute, I wanted to be able to get her out. Philip also applied to AAC for an exit visa so that we could travel together; we planned to fly to Athens for a holiday, travelling by ferry to a couple of nearby Greek islands before flying on to London. But we were confounded yet again by Saudi incompetence and unpredictability.
The children’s and my passports came through on time, each with exit visas. But Philip’s passport, and several others from AAC, were lost somewhere in the labyrinthine corridors of the visa office. The visa official had, apparently, run off with a woman and taken the passports with him! Whoever would have thought that likely in Saudi? When the official was finally located, he said that the passports were actually propping up his desk because the legs were wobbling.
I had tidied up the villa, looking at every piece of furniture, every painting and every item of kitchenware, wondering if I would ever see them again. I buried my face in Anna’s pillow and could still faintly smell her scent. A cascade of grief overwhelmed me. I sobbed and sobbed into her pillow, the pent-up misery pouring out. I ranted abuse at those who were inflicting such heartbreak on us. How could someone be so evil as to hold her away from her family? Eventually, I felt Philip sit down on the bed beside me. He rested his arm on my back and I could feel him shaking too. Glancing up, I saw tears flowing down his cheeks, his face crumpled in anguish. Gradually the torrent of rage subsided and we stared at each other in resigned apathy. This was a hell-hole and there was no way out.
I decided to leave Anna’s clothes behind, just in case they were needed, and also her brand-new, unused passport should Philip, by some miracle, be able to bring her home to us. I packed all of Jake’s and my clothes and items we valued, and stacked the suitcases ready for the journey. Then the fiasco of Philip’s missing passport happened and I was faced with the prospect of hanging around our villa for heaven knows how long until the missing passport showed up. Keeping Jake cooped up in our villa for an indeterminate period was a grim prospect. Why couldn’t things go smoothly for a change?
‘Why don’t you go ahead of me?’ suggested Philip. ‘You can book us into a hotel in central Athens and spend the time looking around the city until I can get out. It shouldn’t be long.’
It seemed to be the only sensible thing to do so we rang the Athens Gate Hotel by the Plaka and booked a family-sized room. Philip cancelled his flight and we spent the last few hours in Saudi ensuring that the police and the embassy knew how to contact us should Anna be found. Archie and Jenny would be in Riyadh until Philip returned, so could stand in for us if need be.
By early June the temperature was always a consideration when venturing out of doors. We couldn’t just go out and get into our car, it was
almost too hot to touch. Ten minutes or so before departing Philip would start the car, turn the air conditioning on full power and leave the car to cool itself down before we could get in. Anyone could have driven it away but the alternative of getting into a burning hot car was impossible. Walking anywhere during the day was exhausting and to be avoided unless vitally necessary. The final days of waiting for Angelo after school were hard to endure; the sun beat down relentlessly and I could only stand it because of the shade provided by my umbrella.
So, the evening of my departure was one of conflicting emotions. I was glad to go but desperately sad. I steeled myself not to break down but armed myself with a bundle of tissues for mopping up the tears that were certain to fall. Philip drove us to the airport and saw us to the departure gate.
‘Give me a call when you get to the hotel. I shall probably be with you in a day or so.’
I numbly nodded and kissed him goodbye. Jake hugged his dad whilst I gave Riyadh one last glance. I wished to God we had never come in the first place.
The Foundling
When I was about three years old, a mountainous desert sandstorm blew me away. Away from my family whom I have not seen since. Unlike Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I didn’t arrive in a magical kingdom but found myself inexplicably placed in a Saudi family who were complete strangers to me. It has taken me a number of years to piece together what happened during those shocking weeks. At the time, I went through a deep trauma which took months, if not years to heal.
I belonged to a British family who had been working and living in Riyadh in Saudi Arabia. Our last family outing was an expedition into the desert where a crowd of us, adults and children, gathered together for an event; I can’t remember why we were there but it was at night because our party was lit by a huge fire around which we all gathered. One moment we were all together and the next I was on my own being flung around in a screaming wind that hurled sand and rocks and other flying stuff at me. I was thrown about, unable to stand still, bowled along the ground and then lifted up into the air before hitting the ground again. I had no idea what was happening to me. I screamed for my parents, but they were not able to hear me. All this I discovered later in life. At the time I had such a battering that I had no idea if I was still alive or not. At some point I found myself amongst warm soft creatures that had a strong animal smell. Even to this day, if I smell sheep, I feel distressed and confused. However, they gave me protection from the sandstorm that had engulfed the party.