Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

October 25, 2008

Part Two:

They Know Our Names:

We get our first inkling of the service modality here as we step out of immigration at the airport and a middle aged Philippine man greets us by calling our names. “Mr. Greg, Mr. Bill, come with me?” he says absolutely, holding up a computer printed sheet of paper with our names on it. (It is custom here to call somebody by their first name preceded by a title of some sort. If I had a PhD, he would undoubtedly call me Dr. Bill instead.) Samad walks us to his white Toyota van and pops the door open.

I neglected to mention that we arrived in Jeddah on Friday. That’s the last day of the work week in America and most of the western world. The car ride in from the airport gives us the impression that this big city is desolate. Barely another car on the road for the first few miles. Then as we approach town, it’s quiet. Little traffic, stores closed, just a few people walking the streets. But something’s amiss and I know it. So I ask Samad if this is a day of rest here. In a broken yet clearly comprehensible amalgamation of several western languages he says: “Qui, holiday off Mr. Bill.” In this part of the Muslim world it is in fact the last day of the weekend, what we’d consider Sunday. So right off the bat, I’m confused. Add to that the concept of a 7 hour time differential from the east coast and it’s a mixture destined for calamity.

The Sunset Hotel is located a bit off the beaten track facing a major roadway. We’re told that there’s a very popular shopping mall, (closed today,) just a few blocks from here, but I must admit nothing looks familiar. The Sunset is obviously a bit behind the times and looks as if it caters to more of a middle-eastern than western clientele. Around the corner is the Radisson Jiddah which would look familiar and comfortable to most anyone reading this. Our hotel is a less sophisticated style but nonetheless opulent in its own way. As Samad drops our bags off at the front door we are met by a Pakistini man who quickly shuttles our bags up the marble stairs. Then once inside Mahmud, an Indian man waves us over and drops our preprinted check-in forms on the counter. Without us saying a word he already knows each of us by name. We’ll find this to be a common and always unsettling skill in this part of the world. How do they know our names? Granted, I’m a 6’3’’ tall, really white American. I’m difficult to conceal on the cloudiest of days, especially in this land, but it’s simply uncanny how they do this! One begins to ponder if Google® has something to do with this phenomenon.

As we take our keys and head to the rooms, we cross a beautifully envisioned white marble floor in the lobby. It’s a subdued and traditional pattern with the occasional border or pattern in black or tan. As we make our way to the elevators we pass two Malaysian men busily pushing electric floor polishers. They leave a brilliant sheen behind them as they move from the back of the lobby towards the entrance.

Jet lag strains our minds and bodies as we settle into the hotel for an late afternoon nap. But first we both crack open our computers and seek reattachment to the outside world. A quiet and dim icon greets me when I look for a wireless connection. Then a search around the room for an RJ11 jack proves fruitless. I begin to feel like a smoker whose just gotten on a 17 hour transcontinental flight. Where is it? I need my net! When I call downstairs to inquire, the front desk answers with “Good day Mr. Bill, how may I serve you?” I relay my request with mumbling lips and trembling hands and I’m not sure if they’re symptoms of jet lag or the Internet withdrawal. Mahmud manages to understand me, apologizing, and sends a technician to the room. The technician, a young Pakistani, comes laden with some gear and an armful of wires that drag behind him swishing loudly, echoing on the marble floors of the hallway. The cable modem he installs suffers from an intermittentcy reminiscent of my old VW Bug when the tank would find itself below half-full. The bits and bytes sputter along seeming to gasp for some comfort in the ether. I do manage a noisy and spurious Skype call back home where it is, by this time, early morning the same day.

We’re told unceremoniously by our hosts that Saudi Arabia has a strict if informal labor practice regarding the ex-pats that come from around the world to take part in the wealth streams associated with Saudi oil. Visas are readily available to any American willing to come and work. It gets tougher for others. Brits, Australians and South Africans seem to have equal footing, but from here the disparity begins to creep in fast. As we get to the eastern and middle eastern countries visas are more difficult to get and the jobs tied to them run in a fairly downward economic profile starting with the Americans on top and Pakistanis sharing the near bottom with their global neighbors. Examples of this policy at work might be the Philippine taxi drivers and the Pakistani floor polishers. A pretty common pairing in many places we went.

Saturday, (now Monday in Saudi,) comes early for us. We’re up with the Saudi Sunrise and already it’s our first ghastly realization. The Saudis are not fans of anything that resembles a good American cup of coffee. The hotel restaurant has no big perk-pots. There is no espresso machine. There is only the huge simmering tank of hot water on the breakfast buffet. And next too it - lying sadly in a pile - are the little envelopes of Nescafe’, eek! But all is not lost to freeze-dried woe. Our disdainful looks bring the ever attentive staff running and soon we each have a double Turkish coffee, little brass pots burbling, in front of us. The thick detritus at the bottom of each tiny cup threatens to erase years of tooth whitening efforts.

Eventually we are met by our Egyptian partners Ahmad and Dr. Amr. They’ve done all the ground work for us here in Saudi and will act as our guides. It is already evident that communication here may be an issue. We pile into Ahmad’s car and head to our first paying gig for the week, with a large automobile importer Abdul Lateef Jameel (ALJ.) The car pulls up to a gated compound with ten foot high iron gates. A honk and a nod, the windows roll down and a friendly argument ensues. This seems to be an accepted part of any transaction here. There’s always some amount of lively repartee before any deal is struck. The gate motors engage and we pull though and around to the front of an ornate looking building on the campus of ALJ’s headquarters. This is their training facility where I’ll be working for the next 15 hours or so. It’s nothing short of opulent. We discover from our host Carlo that the entire building is designed after a Moroccan palace and that it includes many artifacts taken from Morocco. 25 foot ceilings are adorned with a rich lattice of mahogany or teak wood. The walls are a combination of fine mosaic tile and ornate sculpted wood. Occasionally a piece of contemporary western art juxtaposes the massive colorful walls. It is by far the most stunning room within which I have ever had to ply my trade.

Today we have 100 or so high level managers from the company. We’ll take them through the Leading Bold Change(TM) program. Greg is here to assist, along with Dr. Amr. As the meeting is called to order, before I’m introduced by Carlo, a young man is brought up to the front of the room to stand before a microphone. He begins to sing an Islamic prayer and the rest of the room falls silent. His clear and sweet voice bounds off the tiled walls with energy and fills the room. When he's done, I want applaud, but resist the urge. Suddenly it’s my turn to step into the silence left by this. The roomful of men mostly dressed in traditional robes welcomes me. We have a great day of learning from each other. The day is highlighted by a magnificent buffet lunch of traditional middle eastern foods. This continues a theme that will repeat itself all week. We love this food!

The first session ends at 5:30, giving us a short break. I step outside and listen to the call to prayer being broadcast from a P.A. system in the minaret of the local mosque just outside the door. It is now dusk and the green neon lights in the tower of the mosque begin to appear providing an eerie backdrop to the long chanting strains of “Allah uh akbar, Allah uh akbar. “ I am left with no doubt that I am truly deep inside the Islamic world.

ATHAN or AZAN
The Call to Prayer

Allah is defined as the ONE who ALONE, without partners or helpers created all that IS created in creation, either known or unknown.
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1 Allah u Akbar, Allah u Akbar
-- Allah is Great, Allah is Great

2-Ash-hadu al-la Ilaha ill Allah - Ash-hadu al-la Ilaha ill Allah
-- I bear witness that there is no divinty but Allah

3 Ash-hadu anna Muhammadan Rasulullaah
-- I bear witness that Muhammad is Allah's Messenger

Ash-hadu anna Muhammadan Rasulullaah.
-- I bear witness that Muhammad is Allah's Messenger

4 Hayya la-s-saleah - Hayya la-s-saleah
-- Hasten to the prayer, Hasten to the prayer

5 Hayya la-l-faleah - Hayya la-l-faleah
-- Hasten to real success, Hasten to real success,

6 Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar
-- Allah is Great, Allah is Great

7 La Ilaha ill Allah
-- There is no divinity but Allah

The day ends with a 3.5 hour board meeting and then another buffet. This one we’re told, is an “executive dinner.” Much better than the earlier lunch. A spectacular spread of seafood, lamb, beef, rice, tabbouleh, hummos, pita, yogurt, pasta, and four types of salads. When the desserts come we are agog. A table full of artwork appears, chocolates, chiffons, crème brulee, a French patisserie on wheels.

My favorite has to be the little pastry bird nests. Each delicate nest of light pastry noodles filled with green roasted pistachios drenched in honey. We have an elegant sufficiency. An embarrassment of riches. We are sated….at least until tomorrow.