Skip to content

4-A Crosswalk

Noon call to prayer echoed through the villa, it was a signal to worship God and a reminder for the pious. The unabating desert swirled never ceasing, spewing dust and sand yet somehow tamed by these impassioned phrases of devotion. This ritual proclamation kept my day on track and in order, alerting me that school was almost done for the day.

The time had come to don my abaya, cart the two little ones and the double stroller down the stairs and head out into the neighborhood streets of Riyadh.  It would be the first time we left the villa without a mahram (male relative or guardian) giving me a chance at independence and a meted freedom. The boy’s school was just 2 blocks away and my eagerness to explore the area was at last reality.

The street looked much like it had the night we drove from the airport but in the noon heat it was eerily vacant. No men in tattered clothing rag and bucket in hand, no boys raucously kicking footballs. I made a mental note of how many streets we passed and any landmark that might guide us back to Abu Abdullah’s little white pickup parked just outside the doors.

Garbage dumpster in a vacant lot, remnants of litter whisked into rumpled mounds where feral cats skulked poised and ready for a skirmish. Two streets had passed no signs or names to plant inside my mind only houses, cars and random writing sprayed on walls. A metal appliance complete with faucet and a cup attached stood on the sidewalk in front of a large white home, blue metal gate. A nearby park emerged and just beyond it the road that lead to the boys only school.

I stood to one side looking for a crosswalk, glancing left and right, back and forth waiting for a break in traffic. Workers rode bikes narrowly missing cars that jammed the street, blocking vehicles from passing. Honking and screeching tires collided with the sounds of a school bell. Men crowded near the school gate waving hands and arms to gather up their passengers. Fathers, drivers and passersby stared and surveyed us as we made numerous attempts at crossing. The school let out and panic rose inside me, my son would soon emerge and I had to be there as I had promised. I stepped out into the street only to be rebuked by honking and endless cars that showed no sign of relenting. Moving back and forth looking for a gap to make my move, I checked on the girls both secured in the brightly colored stroller. At last I saw a break and took the opportunity to sprint moving to and fro until I reached the other side.

It seemed as if all eyes were narrowly focused on my gallant show of force running boldly past everyone and taking charge of my own passage. A surge of reality took hold when I realized no other females were present at the school or on the streets that had taken me there. Inching towards the gate I felt I had become an anomaly, a spectacle.






13 Comments Post a comment
  1. Oh, it ends so horribly…………. What a truly amazing life experience you have had, along with your children. Learning a new culture is hard, even one that is assumed to be familiar – and I cannot imagine how challenging this must have been for you and the older children.

    Liked by 1 person

    August 8, 2015
  2. I don’t want to click ‘like’ but wanted you to know I’m reading…


    August 22, 2015
  3. Now I need to read the next part, it is fascinating!

    Liked by 1 person

    August 23, 2015
  4. I was up late reading these last night and finished this morning, so that’s why my comments are coming back to back. 🙂 I’ve heard how the traffic can be in the Middle East, but I’d be willing to guess that some of that “traffic” was because of you being a foreigner. That only makes the situation harder, but good for you for toughing it out. That transition for the kids must have been like stepping onto a different planet after coming from the states.. That would be so difficult, but they were brave for going.

    Liked by 1 person

    August 24, 2015
    • Yes I look back and feel awful!!!!! I have told them how sorry I am, they said no it made us who we are! But still lots of guilt!


      August 24, 2015
  5. I’m so sorry that your son had that experience on the first day of school. What a scary beginning.

    Your crosswalk, or lack there of, experience is very much like India!

    Liked by 1 person

    September 5, 2015
  6. I enjoyed reading your last post about the stove. I remember the stove in my hotel apt. in Abu Dhabi. I wanted to cook and noone in the hotel had a clue how to use it. Maybe this is a common theme in the Middle East. I also refused to drive a car…traffic was so scary. I understand your predicament very well.

    Liked by 1 person

    November 22, 2015

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: