One
morning last week I set out on my own, clad in my black abaya and a black scarf
wrapped around my head. That’s how you dress when you’re going to a Saudi neighborhood
that doesn’t see many foreigners.
In
the spirit of the Christmas story, I was going to be taxed—my name to be
counted, my number to be known by a distant oligarchy that owns my mobile
phone. They had sent out a decree by SMS earlier this month that all customers
must register their phones, or their lines would be cut off.
 |
| So glad I packed Wikki Stix in our luggage! |
(I’m
sure, however, that what they really meant is that so many people have cell
phones now that it’s getting hard to place faces with the cell calls they tap,
so everybody needs to have their photo ID on file so they can look at your
picture while they’re listening to your conversations.)
The
walk was a bit awkward since baby Tess came along in the stroller. You never
know whether your path will be stroller-friendly in Jeddah—sidewalks are unpredictable.
Sometimes they’re too narrow for a stroller, sometimes they’re strewn with
rocks or sand, or they’re blocked by decorative trees planted right in the
middle of the walkway. They’re more like general guidelines than actual
sidewalks. This is the kind of place where you might wish you could trade in
your stroller for a humble donkey . . . or something.
After
walking for a while, I started to feel oddly grateful for the black scarf over
my head. It turns out that black head coverings actually do a good job of
shading you from the sun! Things were going my way. I was rolling in karma all
morning long:
·
Traffic was light enough that I was
able to cross two busy streets (twice each!) at only minimal personal risk to
myself and my child.
·
The telecoms store was open when I
arrived.
·
There was no line to wait in.
·
Although the computer system was not
working, the attendant said my husband was his personal friend, so he could
photocopy my ID and SIM card and input the info as soon as the system was
running again.
·
At a nearby stationery store, I found
six rolls of green tape with which to create a Christmas tree on our living
room wall (since we are sans decorations until our main shipment of household
goods arrives . . . someday).
I was
in such a good mood when I went home, that I turned on some Christmas tunes
(thanks, Mormon Channel, for playing them 24/7!) and taped up our Christmas
tree. And guess what? The kids thought the tree looked magical—like, in the “Oh
my heck, it’s Christmas time!” sense of “magical.” My star was shining that
day.