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EDITOR'S NOTE
The
Saudi-American Forum is very pleased to present "Honey and
Onions" by Frances Meade. This delightful memoir of
the early days of Americans working and living in the Kingdom -
in ten chapters - will be
presented one chapter per week.
We
hope you enjoy it and you will join
in a discussion of the book [Click
here].
Previous
Chapters:
CHAPTER NINE
I
am on my way home from a meeting in the Diplomatic Quarter.
Suddenly, nothing looks familiar.
Where did that grove of newly planted palm trees
come from? There's
a palace I've never seen before. My driver tells me that the new highway has just opened, and
I realize that Riyadh has simply gone through one more
change. The
familiar has once again disappeared giving way to the new.
Coming
back to Riyadh was not as I imagined it.
I saw myself as the prodigal daughter being welcomed back
as though nothing had happened in the three years since our
departure. But,
there had been many alterations in the fabric of Riyadh life
since then. Most of
our old friends were gone, a testament to the transient nature
of the community that I had not recognized before.
Everything had seemed comfortably permanent during the
time we had lived here, and it was something of a surprise to
discover that I was a stranger once again.
The difference now was my position at the school.
A stranger I might be but one whose arrival had been
anticipated and planned for.
I
met a great many people all at once at a general meeting of the
RICS parents and realized that
the days of our tight little circle of foreigners were long
gone. The crowd I
faced in the auditorium of the Mission was a sizeable one and
consisted only of those with children in school. There would be no more entertaining of the whole community
if, indeed, it was even possible to meet them all.
A new Riyadh was taking
shape. There had
been an influx of new companies, new buildings, a geometric
increase in the foreign population with many new countries
represented. There
were telephones, although in short supply.
The arrival of the first U.S. government civilians with
the Corps of Engineers and the English Language Center of the
United States Information Service heralded what would become the
gradual establishment of quasi-diplomatic enclaves over the next
few years. The
Mission would be moving into new quarters nearer the airport and
out of its role as a focal point for local Americans.
Although
there were many new establishments
on Wazir Street and the smaller streets between it and
Batha, downtown commerce was beginning to decentralize.
A whole new shopping area was growing up on Jareer Street
in Malaz, and a few shops had appeared on Sitteen, which was now
paved. It took me a while to take in all the changes when I
first returned. I
was living alone and phoneless in one of the two small apartment
buildings that, along with the office villa, constituted the new
office compound, but until the company move took place, I was
the sole inhabitant. My new job filled my days, and the company driver, Ali
Harbi's successor, had another family to work for and was only
available to me occasionally.
So, I had little opportunity to get out and explore, and
what time I did have was spent in looking for a new villa.
With
the flood of new arrivals, it seemed that every house in Malaz
was occupied; in fact, every existing house in town was spoken
for. My best shot was in the new area of Suleimaniya, close to the
airport, where some houses were under construction. This was a considerable distance out of town, but there were
compensating factors of space.
There were no neighborhoods as such and each house or
small group of houses stood alone.
Streets did not exist except as dirt tracks, and short
cuts across country reduced the travel time to the center of the
city. The house was
not finished, so even after Dick arrived permanently, we would
have to spend some time in the small flat, which I was now
inhabiting. Living alone was even less pleasant than I had expected it
would be, and I was becoming an unwilling recluse.
Fortunately, my job was demanding enough to preclude
evenings of boredom; I had a great deal to do and a lot of time
to do it.
It
would be impossible to overestimate the role of RICS in the
community. With the
foreign population growing so rapidly, it was predictable that
it would fragment along the lines of nationality, and the old
international flavor would be lost.
Happily, the school remained the unifying influence and
brought out the best efforts of all who were concerned with its
status. We were
committed to making the two physically separated schools into
one institution of the highest possible educational standards,
but to achieve a spirit of unity under the prevailing
circumstances was a tall order and required the good will and
support of the entire community.
RICS was more than ever an international school, not only
in its student body but also in the friends and supporters who
worked so hard to sustain it and help it grow.
I have mentioned the generosity of the companies and
organizations who came to the rescue of the school's endangered
finances, but hundreds of individuals contributed in hundreds of
ways to its development as an institution central to the needs
of the community.
I
have always thought of myself as a self-sufficient person who
needs only an interesting project or a good book in order to
feel at home in the world, but the weeks before the company
moved to Riyadh severely damaged that image.
Dick appeared on a few quick business trips and then he
was off again to Jeddah, and I felt exactly what I was --
lonely. I never got
to the sorry for myself stage, but the day I watched the trucks
unloading at the office villa next door was one of the happiest
I can remember.
With Dick in town, I
was back in circulation making discoveries every day about the
new city I was living in. I
was also making discoveries about myself.
Gone was the wide-eyed seeker of adventure and with her,
sadly, the sharpened senses that had enhanced each day and each
incident. I was the
old hand, five years in the kingdom and happy to tell anyone who
would listen how much better the old days were. Nobody else was nostalgic.
The newcomers saw their own Riyadh as the original, and
the Saudis were caught up in the prospects offered by
development and were not inclined to be sentimental about a
recent past with all its inconveniences.
Nostalgia requires perspective, and enough time had yet
to elapse for anyone to be anything more than objective about
the past.
Meantime,
there were new amenities to enjoy.
The power supply had become much more dependable, and air conditioners
abounded. Shopping
was localized, and daily trips to the souk were unnecessary.
Pepperidge Farm bread appeared in the frozen food chests.
Spinney's supermarket opened, and shopping carts were the
order of the day. There
were more cars but not enough to constitute a traffic problem,
and there was talk of installing traffic lights.
Informal
groups provided a new range of entertainment with plays and
operettas produced at the Mission and even a traditional British
pantomime. The race
track, which had been dormant, now featured a program of
all-Arabian horse races plus a camel race each Monday afternoon.
The great camel race at Janadriya was far in the future,
but every week you could see seven or eight camels gallumphing
around the track and, in at least one case, jumping the rail in
a show of rebellion. The
riders were Bedouin men; the weight advantage of small boys had
not yet superseded tradition.
*******ADD PICTURE
The
desert was still the big draw for excursions.
We traveled far afield for picnics all the way to
the sands, where the ring road now circles to the north of
the city. If we headed east instead, we
were far enough away from Riyadh to have a clear
view of the stars by the time we reached the area now
occupied by the National Guard Headquarters.
Riyadh was growing, but it had a very long way to
go. No one
could guess what was going to happen during the decade of
the seventies; as late as 1974, we were scouting future
locations for the school and ended up having to abandon a
jeep that got stuck in the sand where the Hotel Alkhozama
stands today.
Riyadh
was about to plunge into an era of unprecedented and
unimaginable change; we were living on the edge and didn't know
it. There is a
cosmic kindness that prevents us from seeing the future, and we
remained comfortably unaware of the coming economic whirlwind
that would transform the city and the kingdom.
ABOUT THE
AUTHOR
Frances
Meade is an American who has lived in Saudi Arabia
since 1965.
Born in New York, she and her family moved to
Arizona in the '50s and still call it home.
She has a degree from Mount Holyoke College and
has written and edited educational texts as well as a
monthly magazine column.
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