Hurriedly, I reassured everybody, “We’re fine, don’t worry.”
And it was true. Although we weren’t far from the clashes, our area of Manama was like an isolated and separate little world. If one blocked one’s ears to the helicopters overheard, and the sirens, one could imagine it was just another typical day.
“Do you think the Gin Twins will still come over?” I asked Joe, when he woke up.
“Oh, all this’ll have blown over by the time they come,” he said.
I hoped he was right, but the TV and Twitter were telling me otherwise. Now the demonstrators were pitching tents on the Pearl Roundabout, under the shadow of the giant monument. And, all the time, more people were arriving.
The next day, the 16th February, very few students came to school. Roadblocks had been set up on all the major highways to prevent movement and people reaching the Pearl Roundabout. Hawa, young Mohammed and I combined classes, but school work was the last thing on our minds. Everybody had a story to tell, and many of the children had witnessed scenes from their own homes. Some had even joined yesterday’s march.
“Mees, I went on the march yesterday!” whispered chubby Zainab, her eyes shining with excitement. She’d come to chat with me at my desk.
“Did you, Zainab? Wasn’t that dangerous?”
“Yes, Mees. I went with my Mom and Auntie.” She adjusted her hijab and took a breath. “Mees, the police were firing and there was tear-gas, but we still walked. Mees, it’s not fair that the Shi’a people can’t get good jobs. My Mom says we have to tell everybody.”
“But this is not a protest of Shi’a against Sunni, is it?” I asked.
“No, Mees! The Shi’a and Sunni people are together all the time, no problem. We are friends. But the government, they only give all the good things to the Sunni.”
“What about the 1,000BD the King gave everybody last week?”
“Mees, my Mom says that was to keep us quiet! My Mom says that the King was worried after what happened in Egypt! That’s why he give everybody money! Some Shi’a families won’t take the money.”
“Well, it worries me that you went on that march, Zainab.”
“Mees, I’m going again tonight! I’m going with my Mom and Auntie, and my two little sisters. We are taking a tent, and we are going to stay at the Pearl!”
Cold shivers ran down my spine. “Zainab, I wish you weren’t going,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else I could say.
All pupils and staff were sent home at lunchtime. There was a terrible atmosphere of foreboding amongst us all, belied by the clear skies and warm weather. Only the sirens and helicopters reminded us that anything out of the ordinary was taking place.
“Are you sure it’s still OK to come out to Bahrain?” wrote the Gin Twins.
“So far, yes,” I answered, but for the first time, I didn’t feel quite so confident.
I tried thinking of lighter subjects. Some weeks ago, knowing that the Gin Twins were coming over, I’d had an idea. I asked the Gin Twins if the children in their Year 6 class might like to write to my Grade 6 kids. I thought it would be nice if they became pen-pals, and find out a little about each others’ lives.
Using the projector connected to my computer, I showed my classes a map of the world and asked them to point out Great Britain. They made many attempts, but the closest they got was Iceland.
So I asked them to point out Bahrain.
“Mees! I know!” said Ahmed, and pointed out China.
Only Fatima could find Bahrain. However, I forgave them. Bahrain is such a tiny island, a mere pin-prick, dwarfed by surrounding countries like Saudi Arabia.
I displayed pictures of the school the Gin Twins taught at, and West Sussex, to all my classes.
“Mees!” said Mustafa Kamel. “The houses are all stuck together!”
“Yes, Mustafa, they’re called ‘terraced’ houses. They’re very common in Britain.”
Mustafa Kamel wasn’t impressed. I suspected he lived in one of those white, pillared mansions I’d often seen. A far cry from a terraced house in Bognor Regis.
The Gin Twins started the ball rolling and the letters from England arrived. I distributed them to my classes. I wish I could show more but the following are typical of the rest:
“Dear Friend,
My name is Molly. I like annoying my brother Paul. I hate sprouts. I never had a party. I am 10 years old and I hope you write back.
Molly”
“Dear friend,
In my house we have 4 dogs, 8 goldfish, 2 rabbits and 1 cat but the cat died before I was born. The things I would like to know are you a boy or a girl. I’m not sure how you live your life in Bahrain so please tell me. My teacher says you have lots of sand. We have a beach but its horribble stones and seaweed smells. Our school is called st marys after jesus’s mum. My mums mum and dad live near me so I can have a cup of tea and they have choclate they hide in the frig. Do you have secret choclate.
bye friend
from Ross”
“Dear Friend,
My favourite game is british bulldog. I have freckles. When do you break up from school? Its not very hot here its always raining except for today. My mum works as a cleaner and my dad is a chef and waiter.
yours sincerely,
Liam”
“Dear Friend,
My fevered subjects are English, Maths and PE. On weekends I love to sit on the settee and wach TV. My mum works over night and my dad is a plasterer but he dose not work becase he has a broken leg but he is fine. My sister is cald chalet and my brother is smelly. I used to have a hamstter cald honey but she died but I’m over it. What is your family like? What is Bahrain like? I hope thats not to many questions.
Ben”
But the noise of the helicopters and sirens grew deafening. I couldn’t keep my mind off what was happening just a few miles away. Back at the hotel, I switched on the TV and saw thousands more flocking to the Pearl. Reports said that, by evening, there were 15,000 people there.
A tented town had sprung up under the towering statue. The cameras rolled, revealing pitched tents with people seated in and amongst them, chatting, eating, and making tea. It looked like a vast Arabic picnic.
On Twitter, the tweets were coming thick and fast. “No Sunnis, no Shiites. We are all Bahrainis!” was echoed again and again. People were posting up photos of the crowds, and the tents beneath the monument. The atmosphere was joyous, like a huge carnival.
I thought of Zainab, her mother, her aunt and little sisters, and hoped that the authorities would leave them all alone. Zainab was on my mind as I went to sleep that night.
I woke early the next day, mentally running through my planned lessons. Perhaps get the children to finish their replies to the letters from England? But there would be no lessons that day.
Just before dawn, on 17th February, just as the middle eastern sun rose in an apricot sky, something appalling happened. Something so shocking that the world was stunned into disbelief.
In a vicious surprise attack, riot police opened fire on the sleeping, unarmed, peaceful protesters camped under the Pearl monument. Live ammunition was used. The stunned demonstrators fled their tents into a barrage of tear-gas grenades and were beaten with police batons. Terrible injuries were sustained and lives lost, although reports differ as to exactly how many. Riot police also targeted doctors and medics and prevented ambulances from reaching the Pearl Roundabout to collect the wounded.
Crowds gathering and tents beneath the Pearl monument
Zainab! Did she and her family camp under the Pearl monument that night?
The school closed its gates. The island was reeling from the news. CNN and the BBC reported the story all day to a shocked world. I reassured my family, Twitter, and Facebook friends as best as I could, but Internet access was patchy. Some blamed the government for the loss of communication, as had happened in Egypt, but I don’t know if that was true. I do know that I saw horrific photos on Twitter, photos tha
t mysteriously vanished, marked ‘unavailable’ when I tried retrieving them to show Joe.
Joe didn’t want to know or talk about it, he was too upset. Jake and I sat side by side, not saying a word, mouths open, watching the live tweets fly past on the computer screen.
“I pray for all #Bahrainis”
“I am tired, shattered and broken. I saw ppls brain's splattered & men in uniform shooting boys Why? #Bahrain”
“Panicked crowds running thru hospital after police attack. Drs rushing to ER. Tear gas grenades outside, wafting in #Bahrain”
“Blood on the street now #Bahrain”
Some Tweets were directed at me:
“@VictoriaTwead take care of yourselves ♡”
“@VictoriaTwead reading tweets from others in #Bahrain please be careful and take care”
“@VictoriaTwead my goodness, the lengths to which you will go for book and story fodder! #wishyouthebest”
Messages popped up for me from Facebook friends, this one echoing most of them:
“Good to hear from you Vicky and glad that you are safe. Just been watching the most terrible scenes on the news, protesters walking along and having live shots fired at them, killing many. We will be watching closely. Stay safe and we will keep watching, lots of love xxx”
Then came an email from the British Embassy, and I knew that we wouldn’t be welcoming the Gin Twins to Bahrain after all.
22. Upheavals
‘The FNJ (Figgy-Nutty-Jammy) Brioche’
The message from the British Embassy was as follows:
“Bahrain protests - advice for British nationals.
In light of recent developments, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office has changed its travel advice to advise against all but essential travel to the Kingdom of Bahrain.
We have also advised British nationals currently in Bahrain to monitor the media, to limit travel around the island to essential journeys only, and not to go out when demonstrations are taking place. If travelling, they should maintain a high level of security awareness, particularly in public places and on major highways, and avoid large gatherings, crowds, and demonstrations.
The airport remains open and transiting through the airport is unaffected by this advice.
We have taken this decision in response to reports of live fire in the capital Manama today. The United Kingdom is alarmed by reports of soldiers firing on protesters in Bahrain. This is an extremely worrying development.
We welcome the proposal of the King of Bahrain that the Crown Prince should initiate a dialogue between the different communities. Bahrain should take further steps on reforms that meet legitimate aspirations for greater social and political freedoms.
The British Embassy Bahrain is located in central Manama, an area close to where violence has occurred, and is closed temporarily.”
So, the Embassy was advising against travel to Bahrain? Understandable, but deeply disappointing. I knew the Gin Twins would not be visiting after all, and they confirmed it.
I worried about Zainab, but it was now the weekend, and I wouldn’t hear anything about my students until school opened again on Sunday.
A massive march took place, ending at the magnificent Grand Mosque, or Al-Fateh, just a stone’s throw from our hotel. This time, it was a pro-government march, chiefly Sunni. As in the anti-government demonstrations, red and white Bahraini flags were everywhere, waved by hand, attached to cars, worn and held aloft. But this time, huge pictures of the King and Prime Minster were being handed out and displayed.
“C’mon,” said Colton, “let’s join ’em!”
And so, still not really appreciating recent events, we were drawn into the chanting, happy throng. These people were not anti-Shi’a, but demonstrating their love for Bahrain. It was infectious.
Me, Joe and Colton in the crowd
The weekend was rife with rumours. Military people-carriers were photographed moving in to surround the Pearl Roundabout. Or were they moving out? Hundreds more police were said to have been recruited, all from foreign countries, promised permanent citizenship by the government, provided they do their job. Reports circulated of large numbers of Shi’a arrests, of hospitals being blocked, the injured and dying prevented from being treated. It was said that doctors were being punished for administering to wounded protesters. I wasn’t sure how much of this was true, but I suspect a large proportion was.
Another rumour, that the unpopular Prime Minister, the King’s uncle, was poised to resign, was certainly not true.
In spite of the horror at the Pearl Roundabout, the anti-government protesters regrouped. They swarmed over newly erected barbed wire to reach the Pearl monument again, their symbolic stronghold. Many were women, bearing flowers. This time, the police held back.
Colton and Kent went to give blood at the hospital, but were turned away.
Although a general strike had been called, we boarded Jasim’s bus on Sunday as usual, and were delivered to the school without mishap. Poor Daryna was not so lucky.
The day was cooler than normal, around 20°C (68°F), which is not really very cold for us British. But, for Canadian Daryna, it was positively balmy. Her usual minibus arrived but, to her horror, it was driven by a masked man. A sinister, woollen ski mask covered his head, leaving just slits for his eyes. Daryna refused to get into the minibus and backed away, terrified.
The driver jumped out and marched towards her. Daryna, eyes huge, prepared to bolt back into the hotel.
“Mees!” called the driver, “please go in the bus!”
“Who are you?” asked Daryna, one hand on the hotel door, convinced he was a terrorist.
“It is I, your driver!”
“How do I know that?”
“Mees, you know my voice!”
“Take off your mask and show me!”
The driver’s voice sounded familiar, but she was still unsure, and not prepared to take any chances. Obediently, the driver tugged off his mask to reveal his familiar features.
“Mees,” said the driver reproachfully. “Today it is freezing. I am cold, so I wear my hat!”
They both had a good laugh about it. The driver clearly thought the Principal was nuts, and Daryna thought the driver was a wimp for needing a balaclava in such mild temperatures.
Only four children turned up in my class that day, and Joe had none. Hawa, young Mohammed and I combined classes again. Wayne didn’t show up. We were ordered to carry on as normal, presumably to demonstrate the school’s solidarity with the government by not participating in the strike, but it was difficult. Zainab wasn’t there, and we had strict orders not to discuss the protests, either with the students, or with each other.
In the privacy of Smokers’ Corner, however, discussion was rife, and the jokes were, too. We wondered if our photocopying man was responsible for reproducing all the posters of the King and Prime Minister that suddenly appeared everywhere.
When a low-flying helicopter hovered above the school, Colton said, “That’ll be Miss Daryna, calling another meeting.” Daryna had become notorious (and unpopular) for her numerous High School meetings.
The Arab teachers thought this so funny, they nearly fell off their chairs laughing. Essam high-fived Colton and sat wheezing with laughter for a full five minutes.
And so, during the next days, life on the island continued, but the atmosphere was uneasy. Gradually, more students returned to school, including Zainab, much to my huge relief. The protesters had successfully reclaimed The Pearl Roundabout. Marches were taking place every day, and it was said that Saudi tanks were poised to enter Bahrain via the causeway. The Royal Families of Saudi Arabia and Bahrain have strong ties, having intermarried. Everybody knew that the Bahraini government had a powerful ally, should it need to call upon it.
Then, on the 24th February, my class was interrupted by a messenger. Joe and I were summoned to report to Administration. Were we in trouble? What had we done? We were both nervous, but reported as requested.
“Your ke
ys to your new apartment,” said a smiling Miss Naima, handing us a bunch of shiny new keys and a form to sign. “You can move out of the hotel this weekend.”
At last! We thought it would never happen! Joe won the bet. His predicted day, 1st April, was the closest, just 34 days adrift.
That night, we had a crazy time at Bennigan’s and Jake and Colton had the devil in them. Kent went to the Gents, and was scared half to death when Jake and Colton suddenly burst in, shouting. Unfortunately, an Arab who had his robes hitched up, relieving himself alongside Kent, was equally terrified, and Jake and Colton had to apologise profusely.
Then, they stormed into the Ladies, knowing I was in there. I was in a cubicle and nearly did a vertical take-off in fright. Luckily, nobody else was in there at the time.
When it was time for Colton to go to the Gents, the rest of us left, taking all our possessions. The Filipino staff played along, quickly clearing the table. We hid out of sight and watched. Colton returned to find a clean, empty table and no sign of his companions. He was totally bewildered.
“Hey,” he said to the bar-staff. “What happened to my friends?”
“What friends?” they answered.
Colton scratched his head, whereupon we jumped out at him. All very childish, I know, but exquisitely funny at the time.
Joe, me and Colton at Bennigan’s
Jake didn’t get away with it either. By now I was famous for the barking that had earned me the name of Dogsbody. When Jake visited the Gents, I crouched down on all-fours behind a pillar in the bar. When he came out and passed by, I darted out and bit him on the ankle. Jake was so astonished, he kicked out, leaving me with stars spinning round my head. Serves me right, but Jake has never stopped apologising even to this day.
All weekend Jasim operated a shuttle service with the school bus, bringing our stuff from the hotel to our new homes. He rattled across the sand at such a pace that we had to hold onto the rails until our knuckles went white. At last we shook hands with the hotel staff and Toothy, and left the hotel for the last time.
Two Old Fools on a Camel: From Spain to Bahrain and Back Again Page 15