Two Old Fools on a Camel: From Spain to Bahrain and Back Again

by Victoria Twead

  “Hi, Colton,” said Daryna, not batting an eyelid. She turned back to me and carried on chatting. She was a cool lady and very little ruffled her.

  Two other things happened that week that I remember clearly. On the 14th April, the normally silent Nepalese caretaker staff at school, were wreathed in smiles.

  “Happy New Year!” they said as they passed us in Smokers’ Corner.

  Joe and I were both bewildered until we discovered that the Nepalese calendar is different, and that they were celebrating the birth of the year 2068.

  The other event occurred over the weekend. The weather was getting warmer but, as yet, we didn’t need to turn on the air-conditioning. At night, I would open the curtains and huge windows to allow the cool air to flow through the apartment while we slept.

  Joe woke up one night to hear the wind howling, but promptly went back to sleep. The next morning I was first out of bed and instantly knew something was amiss. Instead of my bare feet making contact with smooth polished floors, I felt grit. To our horror, we’d had a sandstorm overnight, and our apartment was so full of sand that we left footprints. There was sand everywhere, and in everything, including our computers and the kitchen. It took us four hours to clean up, and we swept up enough sand to create a small beach. All our food tasted of sand for days to come.

  At school, posters of the King were still multiplying. Every available space had been taken, and, in many cases, the students’ display work had been taken down, to be replaced by the King’s image. A vast picture of the King hung down the front of the school building.

  To celebrate the visit of King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia to the island, all ASS students were allowed a ‘free dress’ day, meaning they could wear whatever they liked to school. The Sunni kids dressed in green, as a mark of respect for Saudi Arabia, and carried Saudi or Bahraini flags. Of course my classes were excitable that day, as children always are on non-uniform days.

  During the morning my class was interrupted by Mr. Brewster.

  “Could you send your students out into the courtyard?” he asked.

  I went with them and was surprised at the scene. The entire Middle School was outside and a television camera crew was setting up. Joe had a free period, and he, Hawa, other teachers, and I stood behind the camera team, watching.

  First, the children were ordered to sing the Bahraini National Anthem, as the cameras rolled. Then the director ordered them to back away, and at his signal, come rushing forward, waving their flags and cheering. The cameras captured the scene. This was repeated several times until the director was satisfied.

  Kids being filmed in the courtyard

  I believe the resulting film was shown on TV that night, probably as proof of the nation’s love for their country and ruler. We knew the whole event had been orchestrated and I have lost confidence in TV reporting ever since.

  That week, something extraordinary happened. One of the young American teachers in the High School crossed the line. In front of his class, he ripped down a picture of the King, crumpled it up and dropped it on the floor. It was a stupid, dangerous thing to do. We were not permitted to discuss the situation in Bahrain with the students, or even amongst ourselves. To destroy a picture of the King, in front of the students, was a major insult.

  The students were shocked. Within minutes some used their smartphones to report the incident to their parents, some of whom were high-ranking ministers. The teacher was summoned by the school owner, and fired. For his own protection, he was removed from the island within 24 hours.

  Through the ASS grapevine, we heard that another young American teacher from the High School had also publicly destroyed a picture of the King, tearing it in half. His job hung in the balance, and we waited with bated breath. Everyone knew that it would take just one phone call from a parent to have him removed. Luckily for him he wasn’t reported. The school, already so short of teachers, allowed him to get away with it.

  Colton, Allison, Emily and Jake

  ۺۺۺ

  Back in the UK, the Royal Wedding between Prince William and Kate Middleton was being screened. Worldwide coverage meant that we could watch it, too. King Hamad and his son were invited, but did not attend, following an outcry from the Human Rights movement in Britain. Too many reports of Bahraini killings, torture and mysterious disappearances had filtered through into the media and their attendance would have been very controversial.

  Daryna was glued to her television screen, watching the ceremony and commenting on the fashions. But the Royal Wedding wasn’t the only reason I remember that day.

  26. Letters

  ‘Parsley Tahini Dip’

  It was Friday, the first day of the weekend, and Joe and I had our usual afternoon siesta. This time was sacred to us, especially after a day at school when we would fall exhausted into bed. By now, all our friends knew never to disturb us between the hours of three and five, even at weekends. We hadn’t been in bed for more than an hour, when somebody knocked on our door. A disgruntled Joe answered it.

  “Just stay where you are,” he said to me. “I’ll chase whoever it is away. It’s probably Jake or Colton. They should know we’re not to be disturbed during our siesta.” Joe knew how hard I worked and was very protective of my free time, especially when I napped.

  In fact it was our lovely young friend, Saja.

  “Hi, Saja! How are you?” he asked.

  “Is Vicky there?” she said, ignoring his question. “I need to speak to her.”

  “Saja, she’s asleep and I don’t want her disturbed. Please come back later.”

  Joe was very fond of Saja, but even she wasn’t getting past. Had Joe known the real reason for her visit he would immediately have let her in. Alarm bells should have rung had Joe been a little more perceptive. He would have noticed that Saja was unlike her polite, cheery self and seemed edgy. Alarm bells would have rung had he checked his phone, containing frantic text messages from her, calling for help. He hadn’t, and assumed this was simply a social call. He firmly, but politely, closed the door on her.

  “It was Saja,” he explained, climbing back into bed. “I told her to come back later.”

  At 5 o’clock there was another knock on our door. Joe answered it and it was Saja again. Without a word she walked straight past him and fell into my arms, sobbing.

  Eventually we extracted the story. Saja was an American, but fluent in Arabic, as her family originated from Iraq. She’d always been friendly with No-Problem, the caretaker of the apartments. She treated him like a father, as there was a large age difference, and they chatted in Arabic. When she cooked, she’d sometimes take him a plate.

  That day she’d been shopping in the mall, and No-Problem had helped her carry her groceries up to her apartment. Instead of leaving them at the door, he had entered, and then made a pass at her. Saja was distraught. How dare he? She pushed him away, but he persisted. She escaped, but was deeply shocked.

  Joe was furious. “He can’t be allowed to get away with that, the creep! We should call the police!”

  “No,” said Saja, a little more composed now. “Would you and Vicky go down to reception and talk to him?”

  Of course we would!

  No-Problem was behind the reception desk and greeted us, although he must have wondered at our stony faces. Saja trailed behind, and all four of us sat in the reception area.

  No-Problem didn’t speak much English, but I think Joe made it very clear that his behaviour to Saja had been disgraceful. He denied everything. Saja, braver now, verbally attacked him in Arabic. What right had he to show her such disrespect? No-Problem shook his head again, denying any wrong-doing.

  Daryna was informed and, that Sunday, she and Saja reported No-Problem to the school administration. Daryna, Joe, and I were summoned to the owners’ offices to give our side, through a translator. Had we ever heard of No-Problem molesting anyone before? Yes, we had. He’d tried it on with Andrea, but she was street-wise and had kicked him out. She’d never even b
othered to report it. Could Saja have led No-Problem on? Absolutely not! Perhaps he got the wrong message? No! That didn’t happen, we were positive. Did No-Problem ever enter our apartments? Yes, he did. He even left notes in our kitchen.

  To our dismay, Saja’s story wasn’t believed. At the very least, No-Problem should have been dismissed. Instead, a few days later, he was transferred to the Elementary School as a security guard. Saja, a teacher in the High School, would not have to cross paths with him again.

  We’d been warned that any Arab’s story would be believed over a Westerner’s. Personal experience now confirmed this to be the truth.

  ۺۺۺ

  My students continued to try my patience and I sometimes wondered if I had managed to each them anything at all during my time with them.

  Fatima: The girl sewed a frill on her dress to make it look pretty.

  Omar: I got a big frill wen arsenal scord a goal.

  Fatima: I like to read historical books about people who lived long ago.

  Mustafa Kamel: My sister goes historical when she see a spidder.

  Fatima: If I am hungry between meals, I eat a snack.

  Ahmed: A bo constrikter is a poisnus snack.

  But they taught me many things, too. I was fascinated by their lives and culture, so different from ours. For example, I had noticed that the girls who wore hijabs seemed to have masses of hair piled up on top of their heads. I asked Zainab how long her hair was, under her hijab.

  “Mees,” she said, “it’s not very long. We all wear very, very big hair clips on the top of our heads. We like that ‘humpy’ look. Very trendy, Mees! It’s the style!”

  That day my class was writing letters in response to those sent from England by the Gin Twins.

  “Mees!” said Mustafa Kamel. “Mees, give me another! This one says his father is a fisherman! He is poor, Mees!”

  I was shocked, but Mustafa Kamel wasn’t the only one to complain.

  “Mees! This one’s father is a chef!”

  “Mees! This one has no car!”

  I reprimanded them severely. In fairness, it wasn’t their fault. They’d been raised to consider themselves superior to poorer people. They were also blatantly racist, and the very mention of India had them scornfully wobbling their heads and laughing. I resolved, some time in the future, to show them my favourite YouTube clip, ‘Where the Hell is Matt?’ http://youtu.be/zlfKdbWwruY It shows a young man doing a silly dance around the world, joined by people from every race and creed, from Papua New Guineans to Buddhist monks. I can’t watch it without shedding a tear, and I hoped that maybe it would teach them something. At the end of term, I did find time to show them the clip. Some got it, most didn’t.

  “I can’t believe how racist they are,” I said to Hawa.

  She shrugged. “Tell me abou’ it,” she said. “See your skin, is darker than mine.” She compared her pale arm with my tanned one. “But I lower in their eyes because I Malaysian. Now I have their respec’ because they now forgot my race. But nex’ year new kids and I start again.”

  Sometimes life seemed very unfair.

  My classes completed their letters to be sent to England. They’d been warned not to mention the troubles as I suspected the authorities would censor any outgoing mail. I didn’t want to be responsible for getting the school into any trouble. The following are a few examples:

  “Dear Molly,

  My name is Fatima and I am a straight A student. My favorite subjects are Math with Miss Hawa and Art. My Art teacher takes my canvases to galleries and stuff.

  I have really curly hair and the boys sometimes call me chicken noodles. It is brown and so are my eyes. My favorite color is cyan. I don’t have a brother or a sister but I don’t really want one.

  I live next to the seashore too! I’m really good at swimming but we never swim in the ocean, only our pool which is very big. When I was 7 I had a swimming test but the light was bad so I didn’t win, but I cried for a long time. I have experienced a lot of sports such as tennis, basketball, karate and ping-pong. My house has a gym and tennis court.

  I speak Arabic, French and English fluently. What languages do you speak?

  Your friend,

  Fatima”

  “hey ross

  I read your letter it was good. You have alot of animals in yore house. Why you have alot of animals in yore house? My uncle has a falcone that bites me. I’m unpleased about what is going on in Bahrain. I am muslim not catholic. I love watching tv i watch it so much i have to wear glasses. I like to go on holiday and we are going to syria this year. I like machester united liverpool arsenal barcelona. I like choclate and keep it in my closet. I have amazing friends but one is mysteerious.

  Plese write back,

  Mustafa

  PS I am a boy

  PPs ive seen pictures of your beach and peer. I live on an island in a very big house.”

  “Hello Liam,

  I don’t now how to play british bulldog. i love watching tv and football but i can’t play good beceus i am fat. i have a bother called Yssef and he is ANOYING. i have a bother called Ahmed and sometimes we wrestle in bed. i like to play drums. do you play a insterment? my favorit subject is english except when Ms vicky is in a bad mood. our teachers are nice but some are not. my best friends are mohammed r, mohammed Y, mohamed A and Mustafa but hes not speaking to me now.

  ok bye

  Mohammed”

  “Dere Ben,

  I got your leter and i am going to answer it now. bahrain is really peasfull but there are some people who wants bahrain to be for another country and they make roadbolocks. my favorite food is piza i like it alot. i like to play with my playstayshun and i am very adicted to it. my made makes nice hottdogs.

  Hassan”

  Oh dear, my English teaching, and careful focus on spelling and vocabulary, hadn’t seemed to have made much of an impression. Sighing, I slipped the letters into an envelope and posted them to England.

  The 12th May was another ‘Bahrain Day’. All the students were dressed in red and white, the colours of the Bahraini flag. A table was set up in the courtyard, manned by some older High School boys. They were inviting the Middle School children to write comments in a big, open book.

  “What is that book?” I asked one of my students.

  “Mees, you write your name in the book, and your phone number, Mees, if you love the King.”

  I turned away. The book made me feel uncomfortable.

  At the High School, tempers were becoming frayed. Already short of teachers, some of the younger ones frequently took days off, leaving others to cover for them. Exams were looming, and both students and teachers alike were irritable.

  “I know all my students are going to fail,” Joe said gloomily. “They refuse to do any homework, and they never study in class. And that Talal! Honestly, I despair...”

  “What’s he done this time?”

  “I asked him for his homework, and he told me to wait a minute. Then (he thought I hadn’t noticed), he tears off a corner of his exercise book and scribbles something in pencil. So I ask him again for his homework, and he brings up this note.”

  “What did it say?”

  Joe shook his head. “Word for word, it said, ‘Talal is sick today. Signed Talals mother.’ It was so ridiculous I just laughed.”

  “Hey, I nearly got into trouble today,” said Colton. “I was eating sunflower seeds with my students, ’n’ you know they’re banned because of the mess. Anyway, Miss Daryna comes in. She stands in the doorway, glaring round at ’em all, ’n’ sees a coupla students eatin’ seeds, ’n’ she bawls ’em out. She looks at me, but I’ve got a mouthful, so I just nod, ’n’ use my eyes for expression. Got away with it, I think.”

  We were in Smokers’ Corner, escaping from the school building. Our chairs were ones that had been thrown out, tatty-looking, but useable. The chairs stayed out at night, as it never rained, but this morning, one of them was damp and smelled strongly of cat. We assumed that fe
ral cats slept on the chairs at night, and that particular chair had been watered by an especially pungent tom.

  Rashida’s familiar footsteps clopped around the corner. She paused to pry out her half cigarette from the wall, and squinting, held her lighter to its ragged end. Then she spotted Colton, and quickly replaced the stub in its hiding place.

  “Ah! Colton! Give me cigarette! I leave mine in the classroom.”

  Colton rolled his eyes at us, but handed her one. She lit it, and looked for a chair to sit down.

  “Here you go,” said Colton, eyes large with innocence. “Come and sit here.” He gestured to the stinky chair.

  Rashida plonked herself down, wriggling her voluminous backside, making herself comfy. It was hard to keep a straight face.

  She inhaled deeply. “Look! I have new trouser! I queue at City Center, they were making a very nice bargain, two trouser for just 6BD!”

  We admired them, but it was difficult not to laugh.

  “Have you sign your Letter of Intent yet?” she asked, looking around at us all. “Today I sign my contract. I am coming back.”

  So, yet again, the school had forgiven her for her misdemeanors. I wasn’t surprised, as they were desperately short of teachers. I suspected, too, they’d keep Rita, the Fat Lady who’d been so rude to Daryna. Daryna had confided in me, straight after the Spring Break, that she wasn’t coming back. She’d had enough. ASS would be looking for a new High School Principal, although they didn’t know it yet.

  “I’m coming back,” said Colton. “Unless I find another job, but that’s not likely.” Apparently teaching posts all across the United States were hard to come by.

  They both looked at Joe and me. We’d discussed it many times, but still hadn’t decided definitely whether to leave, or not. I knew that Joe was desperate to go, but he was handing the final decision to me. I was in an agony of indecision. To make matters more difficult, we knew that Colton and Jake would be returning to Bahrain after the summer, and would be very disappointed if we did not. Our friendship with them had grown very strong. Breaking the bonds would be difficult.