It starts in a Costa Coffee. Bahrain airport.
I am sitting with Hussain struggling to explain British
democracy. Hussain is looking at me and appears dubious about its efficiency
and integrity. In all honesty, I am struggling to convince him that it works.
As I explain it out loud, I realise that it probably is as stupid as it sounds.
“So, to get things straight” Hussain begins paraphrasing my
explanation.
“In each district there are many candidates. And each
candidate is from a different party.”
“Yes”, I encourage.
“And the candidate with the most votes, wins.”
“Yes!” He is understanding now. “It’s that easy.”
“But, you say that the candidate who has the most votes
doesn’t usually get 50% of all the votes cast. But. Despite them not having
a majority of all the voters, they are still the winner and that they represent
everyone in the area… … … most of whom didn’t vote for them.”
“Er… yes.”
“This is your great democracy at work?” Hussain is now
grinning. Ear to ear. I think he is suppressing a laugh.
“Yeah.”, I muster a weak smile before sheepishly adding,
“Worth fighting for, huh?”
British democracy is difficult to sell. No wonder we have to
try to impose it.
Hussain smiles. He tells me that he will stick with a hereditary
Royal Family. For right. For wrong. It is easier to understand.
We move on.
I shouldn’t be talking with Hussain at all. I should have
been sitting on a plane flying from Bahrain to Oman. But I had – Hussain and I
had - encountered a problem with a delayed flight back in Saudi Arabia. With a
missed connection, we had a five hour wait to get to know one another.
We started talking because Hussain saved me from being
kicked off the delayed flight.
And undoubtedly being arrested.
Most probably jailed.
For a long time.
I was having a humour by pass and was in a state of high irritability.
So, with my flight delayed, being told by the ground crew that, given that they were not
the pilot, they could not tell me when I would fly and then declining to make a call
to find out more information from someone in the know, I was a little miffed.
I'd just started to offer some useful suggestions to the ground crew about the relationship between airline and passenger when Hussain kindly stepped in.
He prevented the staff member’s face being ripped off.
It could, easily, have been like one of those reality airport shows. I was beginning to hear Tony Robinson running a casual, commentary in my head.
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Stock footage and audio of a busy airport concourse.
Voice Over (Casual. Cheery) -
"Over at Gate 23, upon hearing that his flight was delayed and realising that he would miss his connection in Bahrain, frustrated passenger, Sebastian Fowles, decided that his only course of action was to strip the skin, flesh, muscle and some small bones from the face of a Ground Crew Member using only his bare hands and boarding pass."
Cut to scene of bloody devastation...
Head shot of passenger, completely blood covered but apparently calm and composed;
"So. When is the flight to Bahrain?"
Camera pans to other side of Service Desk. Lingers on the lifeless, faceless corpse of a ground crew member.
Cue credits over relaxed, cafe jazz music...
"Come fly with me. Let's fly, let's fly away..."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was one of those fate things. Hussain and I started talking, quickly
establishing that we were both flying to Muscat. We shared our frustration at the
delayed flight and inevitable missed connection. Then discovered, by chance,
that we were sitting next to each other on the initial flight out of Saudi. Fate? Destiny? Who knows? We traveled.
Hussain is from Al Hasa, a large town in Saudi Arabia’s
Eastern Province, it is away from the coast and on the edge of the oil fields. I’ve not
visited but am aware that it has always been the key town in the region and
boasts several “old” town areas that UNESCO are fighting to keep protected and
free of unnecessary development. The town is on my list of places to see before
I depart the Middle East. My desire to see it is, additionally, stoked by the
US Embassy’s insistence that it is a bandit country, the wild wild west of the east and a place
that should be avoided at all costs. As previous posts attest, I have precious
little time for the paranoid and unhelpful approach of the US Government in the
region. I'm looking forward to visiting it.
So, anyway, I guess, Hussain must be a cowboy.
But Hussain is wearing shorts and flip flops. It befits the
climate. Dear reader, if you wish and are so inclined, you can imagine him in a Stetson and boots and spurs. It's your call.
His English is very good. Some of the best I have
encountered. He has a great understanding of English humour and a really
relaxed and disarming demeanour as we discuss the World, its opportunities and
its woes. In the hours that have passed, leading us to our table at Costa in
Bahrain airport, I am beginning to like him.
My escape to Oman was a holiday. Eid allowed me a few days
off work, so I thought I would branch out and take a trip to a new country and
a new land. I had a few activities planned but was primarily going to kick
back, catch up on some reading and have a damned good sleep.
But it didn’t turn out that way.
It was far better.
One of the key Arab traits is that they take hospitality
seriously. It’s inevitable, I suppose. It’s a deep rooted instinct based on
tribes and family. It is little more than two generations since many people of the Arabian Peninsula were semi-nomadic. Tribes and extended families roamed between towns and sultanates, caring precious little about borders, building alliances, stumbling into blood feuds all the while trading simple wares; food, livestock and precious items. The inhospitable nature of the climate
and geography meant that people naturally sought support from one another when
and where they could. Food. Water – regardless of how scarce it may be – would be
shared around as a greeting and demonstration of good favour and intent. A
visitor’s needs would always be placed above your own.
Just because, the Bedu lifestyle may have gone and that
large Western style urban settlements are now the norm, I have found time and
time again that Arabs are some of the most generous and open people I have ever
met. The natural hospitality lives on. Where generosity is offered, it is
polite and rewarding to accept. It is impolite to refuse.
Which is how I came to accept the lift to my hotel from the
airport.
And agreed to meet up the following night to try an
incredible Turkish restaurant that Hussain knows. To eat more food than I thought
was possible.
I didn’t pay a penny. Not even a baisa.
A whistle stop tour of Muscat nightlife ensued. Shopping
Centres, Estate Agents and Car Parks. We tried the cinema but had mistimed our
arrival and were stuck with the choice of a rubbish kids movie to watch (some
horrific looking thing called "Minions"). A quick departure to a chocolate restaurant
and a discussion of children’s films – Pirates of the Carribean, Back to the
Future - led to one of the most enlightening conversations about
comparative religion I have had in my life.
Thanks to Harry Potter.
Given its starting point of wizards, magic and bullshit, I
figured that Harry Potter wouldn’t feature high on the list of stories to
read/watch in Arabia. In fact, on my original pro/con list of reasons to move over here, I think “not being exposed to Harry P” was included quite high on the “pro”
side. How wrong was I?
Hussain explained that the Harry Potter franchise was massive and one
that he and his kids really enjoyed. Given my – albeit – pretty basic knowledge
of Islam, I was surprised that he liked it. I had rough idea of jinn/djinn in Islamic
culture, but my impression was that the religion was generally pretty damning
of magic and superstition. Very damning if you arrive in Riyadh's Chop Chop Square at
the - literal - sharp end, having been deemed to be a practitioner. Hussain agreed
and disagreed, but explained that he had sat with his kids to guide them
through the bits of the story that were “wrong”, rather than allow them to
watch alone, They all enjoyed them, none the less. They enjoyed the
action and adventure.
I’m not a Harry Potter fan. Ignoring that stupid, bloody
luggage trolley mounted in a wall at Kings Cross station that made me miss a
train once, I never liked what I read or saw.
Harry Potter and the crock of Hype
Harry Potter and the crock of Shite
It all passed me by. Books. Movies. Theme Parks. Left me cold.
Privately, I figured that Hussain had his work cut out
pointing out the “wrong” bits in the stories. Personally, I’d be pausing line
by line.
See note below…
We talked for an age. Over a chocolate fondue (available here... The Chocolate Room). We spoke of the
Jinn/Djinn. Of Fallen Angels. Of the Garden of Eden. Of Satan. And Isa.
Jesus, in
an hour, I had a better insight into Islam than I had in four years of compulsory
Religious Education at school. Eye opening, enlightening. Genuinely
fascinating. Better than that, Hussain remembered my name at the end of
the conversation, which is more than my RE teacher - Mrs Peel - did during those wasted years at
Rooks Heath High.
Note
Given my aversion to all things Harry Potter, I was
surprised that I even read the following link:
But I did. And I thought it interesting. I quite like the
idea. I mean, I have no idea whether its argument stacks up. That would involve me going back
and reading the books. Until Hell – which I don’t believe in - suffers climatic conditions
where UK Government Cold Weather Payments are issued (seven consecutive days at or
below an average temperature of Zero Degrees Celsius), that won’t be
happening.
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