Incident with a Porche and Pepsi

After 22 years living here in the Middle East...Ive sort of gotten use to the idea that everyone feels the road belongs to them. Crazy driving...parking...when it comes to cars...just make sure you buckle up. You never know whats waiting around the corner.

Well, yesterday waiting around the corner for me was a Porche conveniently parked right on the curve in the Diplomat area...Mr Porche was kind enough to put his hazard lights on...fat lot of good they did considering he was far enough around the bend to hide his little speedster right up until I was behind it. Too suddenly be faced with a ton or so of solid metal just when you least expect it...does not give your heart much time to catch up to the scene...I very nearly caused another accident while trying to avoid rear ending little Porche...can you blame me if my temper was stirred up ever so slightly?

I cant for the life of me understand this thinking that "I can damn well park my car anywhere and who cares if it causes problems for other people. My wants and needs are the important thing here." I have lost count of the number of times I have been blocked in by some driver who was too lazy to drive a little further and park properly...most of the time they dont even apologize when they come back and see your fuming face. Just a la de dah as they drive away...happy they accomplished their mission...no worries about me and mine...arggghhh!

Anyhow...my day wasnt going too well anyhow so Mr Porche was in the wrong place at the wrong time...so to speak. I showed Mr Porche my ire by having my son roll down the window and pour my newly opened bottle of Pepsi on his lovely little machine. If it would have been easier I might of had him piss on it...thats how angry and fed up I was...anyhow...I squeezed by with much caution and sped off.

Not the end of the story...keep reading.

It seems Mr Porche was witness to our little Pepsi annointing and came speeding after us through traffic...he finally caught up to us (I wasnt even aware he was risking life and limb to do so..not concerned with such crazy driving unless its around me)...and preceded to try and drag my son from the car. Luckily I had the foresight to lock the doors before hand...intuitively knowing he would try something like that. He was shouting and going on...speaking broken english and throwing some colorful words in there just to spice it all up. He looked like Kojak...but without the lollipop. I chose to ignore Mr Porche...and wondered just how long the red light was going to keep us waiting... Mr Porche was doing his little dance in the middle of the 3 lane highway and seemed little concerned with his own personal safety...wheres the cops when you need one? Im wondering...if the doors hadnt been locked...would he actually have dragged my teenage son from the car and ...what?....beat him?...over some spilled Pepsi on his car that can easily be washed off? Would our blood have so easily have washed off the road if the worst would have happened? Was his little car with some Pepsi spilled on it more offensive then us nearly crashing into his illegally and dangerously parked Porche? Was he prepared to escalate the episode just for the sake of what exactly....his pride? Well I understand that men see their vehicle as an extention of themselves...so I assume Mr Porche felt as if he himself got the Pepsi in the face....so to speak....if only!!

Anyhow, he decided the best he could do is call someone...not sure who...could be those errant cops...or maybe just the wife to bitch and moan about "crazy American ladies"...hmmm? Light turned green so off I sped...he didnt follow...but a bit further down the road he gave us a little middle finger salute...whatever....Im over it.

Im totally pissed off about this though...ok ok Im sure some of you are out there saying..."you didnt have to pour Pepsi on his lovely Porche"...which indicates to me that you feel his right to park there supercedes my right to not die in a traffic accident because of his illegally and dangerously parked car...and further...I have no right to express my irritation at his audacity to believe he owns the road and can park anywhere he damn well pleases...and people can just wait and suffer until he finishes his business?...well all I can say to that is this...

park where you want...but next time it might not be Pepsi is all Im saying.

In a heart beat....!

Yesterday...at exactly 1:52 pm...I nearly ended the lives of two little boys riding a bike in the streets in my neighborhood. I know what the time was because I looked at my watch to see exactly when my life and the lives of those children had almost been changed forever. It was so damn close I very nearly rediscovered my lunch from the shock.

I have often wondered through the years just how mothers can allow such small children free reign in the streets of Bahrain. I noticed this odd phenomenon when I first arrived on these shores 22 years ago...the astounding number of very small children that just run, from early morning until mahgreb, in the streets...without supervision of any kind. We are talking 3 and 4 year olds...I wouldnt allow my 3 and 4 year olds to be on a separate floor from me in our two floor govt house years back...much less let them play outside...I dont get this blase' approach to childcare over here that completely lacks that "OMG wheres my child?" awareness that I felt a million times every day of their young lives (and still do even though they are mostly grown). It just doesnt seem to be apparent here. (for some)

I realize that mothers love their children here no less than anywhere else in the world...Im not saying there is no love...Im saying there just doesnt seem to be concern...which is a very different thing.

I often read of children dying through "accidents" and when I read how they died the first thing Im thinking is..."where were the parents....the mom?". Those two little boys that drowned last year is case in point. They were 7 and 8 if I recall and drowned while swimming alone...the parents and the whole neighborhood was up in arms blaming sand robbers for making pits in the beach that its believed the boys fell into and drowned. I understand her anguish and loss but I want to know...why were a 7 and 8 year old allowed to swim alone in the first place? And apparently it was common practice for them to do so...so it wasnt a one off that we can excuse the mom and say she really didnt know what they were up to. I just dont get it.

I do realize that even with the closest of supervision accidents can and do happen with small children...so having said that...how can we even for a moment allow them to walk blind into the jaws of danger by opening the front door and letting them face the dangers alone....I just dont get it.

The mother of those two little boys I nearly ran over would have cried for the rest of her life if the worst had happened...and for sure she would have blamed me and maybe even cursed me for the breaking of her heart...as I would blame myself no doubt...but would she ever consider that there is some blame on her part as well? Why would she allow her 2 very small children to play in a busy street without her there watching over them...why allow them to worry about their own safety when they cant even wipe their own noses when needed?

I almost ran over and possibly killed two little boys yesterday that had no business being where they were...and yet as I drove away, heart pounding in my throat, sweat dripping from my brow, and my lunch deciding whether it was staying put or not...all I could think about was this...

This time they were lucky.

I just dont get it.

The God of Football...hear my prayers?

There are several topics that I feel a need to post about this week but they will all have to wait because this particular topic has got me burning up at the moment. Maybe Im just being sensitive and pissy but I have to say it anyhow...here goes.

I was sitting in the bank reception 2 days ago waiting for my turn while casually watching a big screen t.v....something about football but I wasnt giving it my full attention because I care nothing at all for football (or soccer as we Americans call it). Eventually though the wait for my number to be called stretched out into days if not weeks and so the t.v. eventually grabbed my attention.

It would seem that Oman beat Saudi in some cup or another and so celebrations were in full swing...there was much jumping up and down...much shouting and kissing of a trophy...and much car horn honking and flags waving...no big deal there...I for one cant really get all worked up over sporting events but I understand some people need to find their release somewhere so who am I to judge...but I did find something to tease my temper into furnace mode...not sure you will agree with me...but here goes.

All though I know nothing of the Omani football team...Im sure we can safely assume they are all Muslims..and as Muslims they were giving much praise to coaches...to fans...to parents and family etc in supporting them "all the way" etc...but they had one particular praise that was repeated over and over again that just really irked me...and made me want to scream at the t.v. right in the middle of the bank reception area...live audience and all...bear with me.

It would seem that much thanks and appreciation for having won the football championship was due to God "answering prayers"....the football game was won by hardwork...much determination...and because apparently God really cares about the outcome of sporting events...especially the ones that have Muslims participating.

Im assuming at some point these same Muslims, these Omani football players...might possibly have sent prayers out asking for God to save Palestine...hmmmm? Asked God to "destroy Israel"....or at least send the aggressors packing? You think so? Im sure we can safely assume that at some point or another while bowed in prayer one, some, or all of those football players sent some form of prayer to God concerning Palestine...Im willing to bet money on that (and Im not a betting person by nature) but it sounds like a sure thing from what I know of Arabs and their strong animosity towards all things Israel...so heres my question...

In your opinion...is it safe to assume...that the millions of prayers sent to God by Muslims asking for Palestinians to be saved and for the genocide to stop once and for all have fallen on deaf ears...but prayers sent out with hopes of scoring a hat trick or at least an overtime winner...were heard and answered and all praise is due to God...the God of football apparently as the God of humanity seems to have taken a raincheck as far as Palestine is concerned...at least it would seem so due to the complete lack of prayers being answered on that front.

Football we can count on...human lives...not so sure....hmmm?

*before anyone starts bombarding me with astagfirallahs...screw you...I care nothing for football and could careless about its results...but I do care for human beings...and to praise God because a football match was won with cries of "God answered our prayers"...seems a right hard slap in the face towards all those dying in Palestine whose prayers for salvation seem not nearly so important as whether or not a little round ball makes it between a goalpost or not...or maybe thats just me.

We never know what tomorrow might bring do we?

Sorry to any regular readers for lack of posting this past few weeks...personal drama has kept me busy for the most part other than the odd comment on other blogs etc. The adage that we never know what tomorrow has instore for us has never been truer for me then this past few weeks.

After waiting so patiently to leave this little island that has been the bane of my existence for so long...and relishing the freedoms and feelings of release that treading American soil has afforded me for the past two months...due to unforseen circumstances (all though in reality they were not that unforseen..but you always have hope that people will surprise you...they rarely change who they are do they) I find myself once again on the sandy shores of Bahrain.

Quite interesting how only a 2 month "sabbatical" has opened my eyes to even more changes that I hadnt noticed as we quite often cant see the forest for the trees...but thats another post. Suffice to say that the animal masquerading as a man that also pretended to be a father and husband...reared his ugly head against my sons from the moment I shook the dust from my heels and boarded the plane...and so I had no choice but to come and take back what he apparently thought was his right to regain simply because I was gone...I might also add that I received a certain satisfaction to hear the "look" of surprise in his face when he realized I was indeed calling from "this side of the moon"...his excuse for a sister was no less surprised when I showed up at her door with the boys to give her an earful for her little part in all this drama...to say they were left opened mouthed hardly described it...for sure they assumed I wouldnt come back simply because I was clear of this place "once and for all". Just more proof that they have no idea what being a parent means...because it matters little that I truly do not find joy in Bahrain...that I do not feel welcome or content here because the culture and I just do not play well together...I would just as soon forget I ever knew of such a place and be happy with the forgetting...unfortunately...while I cannot stand the fact that I have ties to this place through the blood that courses through my childrens body...it remains a fact that it does indeed course through them...and so I will never truly be rid of Bahrain. Also...because my boys were still here...well hell...the strings that bind can stretch pretty far indeed...but they always pull you back.

So for now...Im back on this little island in the sun...I have some serious ass to kick...and will relish the kicking since those that deserve it...pretty much brought it upon themselves...why couldnt they just leave well enough alone and forget they even knew of my boys...as they had been doing for the last 2 years with exceptional skill and acumen?

At any rate...a regular post will be up as soon as I get situated once again and get some back child support that was some how "mislaid" in the 2 months I was gone...until when these poor excused for human beings (husband and sister in law) will realize that I am not the same "greenhorn" that they always delighted in calling me? Those days are long gone and good riddance to them...but new days are here...let the show begin.

Right here and right now!! pt. 3

The journey ends with us arriving in Mecca. While everyone else was straining at the windows trying to get a look...I was barely aware that we had arrived. I seriously needed to lie down fully stretched out and could think of nothing else I wanted or needed in life but a space large enough to do so. I dont really have any memories of our arrival in Mecca...I was in the middle seat and couldnt really see anything anyhow and it held no interest for me at that moment...I just couldnt bring myself to care that I had arrived in the holiest Muslim spot on the planet...a spot I had dreamed about for years...I just wanted a soft pillow and some quiet.

When we arrived at the hotel the lobby was a madhouse of people and luggage. It turns out our rooms werent ready yet and so all the luggage was piled up in a corner and my fellow bus travelers went off to perform Umrah...I collapsed on a couch in the lobby and Im unable to tell you what went on around me for the next 2 hours. I slept the sleep of the dead...dont ask me about my modesty...its possible something showed that shouldnt have etc...I didnt have the strength to care about such formalities. I discovered later that my son had stayed behind and "kept guard" over me. I also discovered that the cousin (brother to my friend) had also stayed behind to watch over me (as he would do for the remainder of the trip...and still does to this day)...my unofficial brother. He is one of the best men I have ever had the honour of knowing.

As soon as the first room was made available...Kaleefa (unofficial brother) made sure that I was escorted to it...and I crawled into a bed fit for a queen and slept a further 4 hours. My son stayed outside the door. Eventually Kaleefa had my son wake me up and said I needed to perform Umrah before the day was over since that is what I had come for...was in a state of ihram (I believe thats the word) as well as himself and my son. So I prepared myself and Kaleefa led us from the hotel. I anticipated a long walk to the Kabaa but it turns out our hotel was practically in the shadow of the mosque...we stepped out from the hotel and the mosque was right there on the doorstep pretty much. I was pretty shocked to say the least...but had to keep moving as Kaleefa was striding ahead...barely looking back...sigh. My son was helping me along but boy was I exhausted. I was already out of breath and we hadnt even got to the actual mosque yet.

Once we entered the doors (after passing security that made sure we didnt have cameras etc) (which was funny considering so many people were taking pics with their phones) I was amazed at just how long it took to get from the door area to the actual prayer areas and the Kabaa itself. The place was packed with people and Kaleefa was holding himself back Im sure to keep an eye on us...but he was still keeping up a good pace. I barely had time to register the beauty of the mosque and the cosmopolitan atmosphere...I was concentrating on not losing sight of him and not falling down as my abaya was too long and I was too tired to lift my feet properly.

When we finally reached the main area of the mosque that had the Kabaa...I just stood there in awe. To actually be face to face with something I had only ever seen on tv was surreal. People were bumping into me...voices all over the place...birds over head...sun shining...kids crying...you name it...but none of it registered...I was in a state of awe...and wanting to enjoy it to the full. However, Kaleefa had other plans. He handed over a mobile phone to my son...gave us some instructions about how to deal with the crowd...how to perform the Umrah itself...and what to do if we lost sight of him (which was a given of course). He instructed my son not to let go of me under any circumstances...and while I know my son would try his best...I had little hope in all that throng that he would manage it. (I was amazed later that he really did keep hold of me throughout...the multitudes of people seemed to have only one intent..pull us apart)

And off we went...we flowed into the crowd of people and immediately I felt like I had been there before...I felt a sense of deja vu so strong...I stopped in my steps to take it in...but of course you cant stop while circumventing the Kabaa lest you get run over...so on we went.

I cant really tell you much about going round the Kabaa...I was concentrating too hard on not getting trampled by the crowd...I was much slower then most of them as I was plain exhausted. I sort of went into a robotic like mode...one step...one step...one step...while chanting the same words that Muslims through hundreds of years had gathered and chanted as well. I was also trying not to lose track of how many times we had went round the Kabaa...its kind of hard to keep a mental note of that...as every side of the mosque looks pretty much the same...so in a small corner of my mind I also chanted...3...3...3...or whatever circle we were on...and watched for the corner of the Kabaa that had the black stone as a marking spot. It took my son and I nearly 2 hours to do our circumventing...I found out later it took others just under and hour or so. I was tired...did I mention that?

When we finally finished Kaleefa was long gone so we made our way to Marwa and Safwa to begin our 7 trips back and forth. I spent a further hour and some shuffling back and forth between these two spots...trying to keep track and wondering when it would all be over. My son stayed with me for awhile but felt he should be jogging it like so many other men were...so he left me with promises to find me when he was done....sure...ok...whatever (2...2...2...2). The hardest part of that particular trek was that at each end, the spot where you did a Uturn of sorts and headed back the other way...the ground was cemented with little bumpy protrusions. Im assuming so that people could get a grip with the toes and climb up the incline without slipping. What it meant for me and my very swollen sore feet was agony each time I reached one end and had to traverse this spot in order to begin the journey back. (3....ouch.....3....ouch....3.....oh my feet). (later many of the women asked me why I didnt allow my son to push me in a wheelchair like many others...but I felt that as long as I could actually still walk...I would...no matter how long it took)

Finally....I was done...after what seemed to be years of shuffling, counting, agonizing and chanting...I was finished with my first Umrah. My son was nowhere to be seen so I weakly made my way to the side out of the way and waited for him to find me. Oh to get off my feet at last was heaven!!! even if it did take me 5 minutes to actually make my way down to the floor. I felt like I was 100 years old and couldnt imagine a time when I didnt feel like this. (I want my bed and I want it NOW!!!)

My son finally found me and he had Kaleefa with him. They needed to go shave their heads now as a final ritual....which meant I had to get up off the floor. With nothing to lean on to aid me...it was an ordeal all by itself. My knees were grouchy...my ankles were hollering...and my feet had gone off on vacation apparently as Im sure I couldnt feel them. I realize that men are reluctant to touch females that are not related to them in the Muslim world...so I was greatfully surprised when Kaleefa offered me a hand up, which I readily accepted. It still took me some time to gain my feet...and even then I wasnt sure I would stay upright...I was down to my last ounce of strength...and we still needed to get back to the room....OMG!!! OMG!!!! OMG!!!

I did manage to finally make it back to the room...to find my room mates on the way out. Now that Umrah was out of the way...many were excited to start on the second most popular reason for coming to Mecca...Shopping!!! I was happy that the room would be quiet so I could sleep without the constant babble of chatter in the back ground. I crawled back into my lovely sweet smelling soft bed and slept without regaining conciousness until fajr prayer. The ladies were waking me to go down to the mosque for prayers...but my legs just wouldnt hold me properly. I was wiped out. They all left and I struggled to wash and perform my prayers and crawled back into bed once again. Where I would remain for much of the next 5 days.

*to be continued

Right here and right now!! pt. 2

(Taking up where I left off)...

Sitting down finally on the bus. I was exhausted by then and just wanted to lie down...but bus seats are not made for lying down thats for sure. It was about 10 minutes down the road when I realized there was no bathroom on that bus...it was about 10 seconds after that when I realized I was going to either embarrass myself in front of all these strangers (except for the 3 people I knew) or manage in some small way to control myself until the next stop. Thankfully my stomach had settled down...all though it was still hurting me...it had nothing further to offer up to the "gods". My nether regions were a different story...they had plenty to complain about and werent shy to vocalize....(ahem...sorry).

As if not having a bathroom was not bad enough...the a.c. on the bus was not working properly. The darn thing was dripping in numerous places up and down the bus onto passengers. Before long there were a myriad of contraptions designed to send the dripping water somewhere else...usually on your neighbor. And to top it off...for some reason the floor of the bus was almost too hot to bear. Many of us removed our shoes for the long journey but ended up either putting them back on or placing a bag or something for our feet to rest on...otherwise they were toasted.

Since I was the last person on the bus...I got the "crap" seat. The very back of the bus has an entire row of seats that go all the way across. Two window seats and two center seats. I was in one of the center seats. So there I was...exhausted...in serious pain from vomiting...continuously cramping which meant I seriously needed a bathroom again (ASAP), my feet were being scorched, my head dripped on...and to make matters worse...because I was in the middle I couldnt lie against the window or even down in the seat...so I made most of that journey unable to even really relax because to do so would have probably meant falling asleep and falling over onto one of my seat partners. I also had a sneaky suspicion to fall asleep would have resulted in me losing control of my shaky bowels...ouch! No thank you.

Our first stop was for fajr prayers in a small town with a medium sized mosque. I was barely able to walk well enough to get off the bus. I found it strange that all though many of the women seemed sympathetic to my plight, enquiring as to my well being numerous times...none of them volunteered to switch seats with me to allow me maybe rest against the window...and none of them offered to help me from the bus or asked me if I needed anything from the cold store that everyone rushed too. As soon as everyone got off...my son came back and helped me off then ran to bring me water etc.

As I hobbled my way towards the back of the mosque where I heard the bathrooms were I was finding it more difficult to "maintain control" at the thought that soon I wouldnt have too. However, once I came around the corner it was as if I had hit a wall...a powerfully putrid smelling wall. Many of the ladies were hanging around outside unwilling to enter...others were plugging their noses and going for it. I had no choice, so to speak, and stepped hesitantly in. Oh the horrors of what I faced. I have never seen such a filthy and disgusting bathroom in my life. The floor was unspeakable...the sinks and walls were likewise...and the toilets were just holes in the floor that were either overflowing...or looked almost too dangerous to even approach as you felt it might break away and you would end up somewhere under the dark recesses of the mosque. Under any other circumstances I would not even had thought twice about turning around and getting back on the bus and waiting for the next stop...it was that bad...but I was absolutely positive I would not make it to the next stop without dire consequences...so I swallowed my disgust...lifted my abaya (way high) and found the least horrible cess pit of the lot.(it didnt win by much but it did have a workable lock). It was then I realized it had no water...no kleenex...nothing to facilitate proper cleaning.(thankfully I had a bottle of water and some kleenex in my bag...all though the way I was feeling I would have had to have "gone" anyhow and cleaned up best I could) Sorry for the graphics people but it was that bad.

Navigating my way through the bathroom ordeal was exhausting and extremely frustrating. Several times I nearly fell into the muck...and when I reached out to grab something to save myself...I would end up grabbing something equally horrible...(shoot me now ...please). Ugh!! Eventually I noticed it had gotten very quiet and than realized I was the last one in the bathroom. When I exited the bathroom my son was anxiously waiting outside wondering if he should risk it and come inside and see if I was ok...everyone else had finished prayers and were headed back for the bus...and I was barely able to shuffle towards the mosque. Thankfully my friends brother was in charge of the crowd and made sure a headcount was done each time we got on and off...or I feel I might have been left behind..along with my son while he stood outside one bathroom or another waiting nervously for me.

Basically the rest of the trip to Mecca was just a repeat of that first bathroom experience...exhaustion...filth...no water or very little...even the mosques themselves were generally unkempt and in need of a good cleaning. We even found a group of ladies smoking hubbly bubbly in one mosque...the smoke and stink was horrible. I find it very strange that Gods Houses are allowed to go unmaintained like that...what a horrible thing to greet Muslims at nearly every stop.

A side note here...I am allergic to some insects...ants being one of them. In one mosque there were very large, chunky black ants roaming all over the place...inside and out. I even seen them crawling over some of the ladies that were praying. My first instinct was to not pray as I was horrified at the thought of one of those goliaths biting me and me dying in the middle of nowhere in a dirty little mosque (not much better than in a bathroom on the bridge is it) but I was worried I wouldnt get the chance to perform this prayer before the next one was due..so decided to take my chances. So I prayed as best I could (being exhausted and all) among the largest blackest ants Ive ever seen in my life. Im happy to say they did not bother me...thank you God.

I dont remember what town we stopped in in order for the men to don the white cloths and for the ladies to do their thing (I was basically a walking zombie by then) as most of that trip was just an exhaustive haze in which I was barely registering anything other than the need for a bathroom and desire to just sleep for a year or two...but we finally arrived among much excitement and flurry of activity. The bus was parked in a large parking lot sort of at the bottom of a hill...and the showers and mosque were on an upward slope...waaay up there. While everyone else hurried off...I leaned against my son and hobbled up this Mt Olympus that took me nearly 20 min to summit.

I found all the ladies cheerfully engaged in the pre Umrah ritual of showering and donning plain dresses...no makeup...perfume or jewlery of any kind....then heading further up the hill to the mosque for the next prayer. I entered one of the shower stalls and was greeted with very very cold water and no hooks to hang my clothes from...not to mention I had forgotten my towel way back down the hill in the bus...try getting dressed again when your only tshirt dried and chattering so much from the cold your almost biting your tongue off (not to mention almost too tired to chatter). I was soooo dog tired that when a wasp flew into the shower stall I just blinked at it and wished it away rather than go into a "dont sting me Im allergic" panic and jump out of the shower naked as I might have done under other circumstances...he didnt like the cold water anymore than I did apparently as he flew back out the window just as quick.

It took me nearly 40 min to shower, change and trudge up the hill to the mosque and perform my prayers. Once in the mosque I needed the bathroom again and had to trudge back down...do my thing...and trudge back up again. That added another 20 min and everyone else was back at the bus by then. My son was patiently waiting...and escorted me back aboard. I dont recall hearing anyone complain that I was "holding up" the rest of them...but then again I have to really pay attention to Arabic to understand it...and in my zombie like state I wasnt understanding any of it...so who knows.

Next stop Mecca.

*to be continued

Right here and right now!!

Ive had a very stressful and hectic past few years...not many opportunities to claim that I was feeling "good"...feeling "right"...feeling "content and at peace" with myself and my life in general. Anyone that knows a little about my life from this blog will understand what Im talking about...but I dont want anyone to assume I havent had "some moments" too...some moments to just sit back and say "wow" or "cool"...or even "Im glad Im here... right here and right now"...doesnt happen often but it does happen...even to me...so heres my "right here and right now" story. (beware...I do not know how to get to the point without wandering far afield now and then...you've been warned)

Im going to write this in the present tense...all though it happened over two years ago...bear with me...Im like that.

Ive lived in Bahrain for 19 years now and Ive never been to Mecca...never been to Saudi for that matter. I have dreamed of going to Haj or Umrah for years but my husband has never even considered the possibility...there is always an excuse why we cant go. Its on my list of Things To Do...but also on my list of Things Im Not Likely To Ever Do As Long As Im Married To HIM!! That list is far longer than the first one...sigh!

My best friend came to me today and asked me something that I thought would never be spoken to me..."would you like to go to Umrah?" Excuse me...is that a trick question? She explained that her cousin was organizing a group to travel together...and she also knew another lady that was willing to pay all expenses for someone to perform Umrah that had never gone before and couldnt afford it. That lady wondered if my best friend knew anyone that "fit the bill"...that bill fits me so well...it was made for me!! She warned me though that nothing was for sure just yet...the bus was pretty full...they were not sure if there were two available seats left just then...my son having to travel with me for mahrem purposes (never even considered asking my husband...I knew he would refuse...and I didnt want him raining on my spiritual parade). So I have been waiting for two days...not really holding my breath...but feeling breathless all the same.

Both my best friend and her cousin came to see me today...with huge grins on their faces...it would seem that I am Umrah bound...Im left quite speechless...to be so close to something and not be able to actually see it or touch it...or experience, it is so much harder than to be on the other side of the world with an ocean or two between you...being close and yet so far...is so much harder. For several moments Im not able to say anything...but they understand completely and just quietly celebrate with me.

OMG! Now I have just 2 days to prepare myself for my Spiritual Journey of a Lifetime...how does one prepare for such a momentous moment? I have been dreaming about this every since I had reverted to a Muslim...but to be faced with the actuality of it was overwhelming...if you've ever felt like your floating...and about to throw up at the same time...its a little like that!

Well, Ive spent the last two days on a whirlwind of shopping for a suitcase, abaya and mentally preparing myself for what lays ahead....I keep thinking that Im in no way ready or even deserving to make such a trip...I mean really! is there like a Belief Meter or something at the border to indicate whether your actually spiritually deserving of entering Mecca? Im sure I would fail...positive...sigh! of course I have the sneaky feeling that there is some sort of divine intervention for such failings...like a bolt of lightening zapping me out of existence the moment I step foot on "hollowed" ground...(wondering what that feels like). Im definitely taking a chance here...my kids need a mother...but the risk is well worth it...no doubt.

It turns out that I am the only non-Bahraini travelling on this particular bus...and so apparently it would be easier for all concerned if I wasnt actually on the bus when it goes over the bridge and border...dont ask me why...Im just along for the ride. The plan is for my best friend and her husband to drive me and my son over the bridge...and then wait in the middle for the bus to come through. Everyone is thinking that the bus will be waiting for us...but it turns out that we will be waiting for the bus for nearly 3 hours (memo to bridge authority...there has got to be faster methods for getting people checked and through without waiting hours for the pleasure of entering or exiting Saudi...damn!).

I might mention that Im damn uncomfortable wearing this heavy abaya...I havent actually worn one in quite awhile...I usually wear long shirts etc...and this one is way too big for me...its dragging on the ground and falling over my shoulders even though its a snap on the shoulder type. Makes me want to pull some hair out the way I keep having to lift it up to keep from stepping on it...or pull it into place. Reminds me why I dont like wearing them in the first place....arrrgh! Oh how I wish an abaya wasnt a pre-requisite to entering Mecca...the things women have to wear to please men...uhm...I mean God.

Anyhow...while we are patiently waiting for the bus to get through...we decide to pass the time by eating a late lunch. We went to some place called Kudos, which Ive never been to before...and will likely never go to again. Bear with me...the next few paragraphs will not be pleasant for the faint of heart.

Half way through lunch I start feeling decidedly odd. Cant quite place it but I know something is "off" within me. At first I believed that my anemia was acting up and so my friends husband and my son raced on ahead to bring me back some folic acid. It generally perks me right up...if that was the problem...turns out it wasnt. My friend and I went to the nearby mosque and I laid down in the ladies section on the floor...with my head on her lap while she read Quran on me. My head was hurting and spinning...my insides were churning and cramping...and before long I would be fairly sure I seen Death waving cheerily from the window of the mosque...ugh!

It took husband and son quite along time to return and in the meantime I was busy alternating between sitting on the toilet bowl or facing it...depending on what needed exiting at that particular moment. I felt like death warmed over and was sure I was going to die in a dirty bathroom on the bridge to Saudi...and never even getting to see the Kabaa after all my suffering...poor me! In the meantime my friend was panicking believing pretty much the same things...and calling her husband to come back ASAP and running back and forth to help me and to see if the bus had come through yet. I forgot to mention that her cousin (brother to the cousin that arranged this trip for me) (also might mention he is the Muslim man I admired in a previous post about Sunni and Shias marrying and he behaving as a true Muslim throughout...sorry...still having problems with linking). She was wanting her cousin to go on without me...I was that bad...but when he and the bus eventually did show up...his words were this..."if she is going to die...what better place to do it in for a Muslim then in Mecca?" Cant fight that logic...all though she did...but eventually I was on the bus...husband and son came back finally and son got on with me...his concern for me was so apparent...but he was forced to sit in the front with the men while the ladies sat in the back...but I could see his anxious face searching for me every now and then...and each time we made a stop...he was right there ready to do anything for me...I love my son!

Now, for anyone that has ever had food poisoning (Im assuming that is what it is)...you will know exactly what I was going through...but what you dont know is that our original bus was supposed to have a bathroom on it...turns out that one broke down and the one we now had did not have a bathroom...I did not know that when I got on there and we set off...not sure if the cousin considered this when he hustled me up the stairs...I will give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was unaware just how sick I was...and exactly what problem I had...but the next day and a half riding the bus all the way to Mecca was pure agony....and thats putting it lightly.

to be continued...