Each night a grease stained paper bag could be seen tucked under his arm as he opened the door and woke us from our lethargic almost dormant state of being. A long piece of plastic ( sufra)was torn at perforations and placed to shape an eating area on the rough black carpet. The contents of the bag were poured onto a tray, rice with chicken on the side. Two large water bottles were placed on the sufra and passed around when the meal was nearly done. Guidelines had not changed; the rules were still in place, no arguing or hurried eating, limit talking, keep hands clean and above all no complaining.
Rice and chicken from a neighborhood restaurant became the staple diet until he announced that he would purchase a stove so real cooking could commence. The house buzzed with anticipation and talk of the food that undoubtedly would follow, cookies, cakes and pasta. When his day off arrived he made his way to Butha (area where people can buy used goods like a swap meet on weekends) and returned with an electric stove. Two workers dressed in shabby faded coveralls maneuvered up three flights of stairs until at last they delivered this new addition to the villa.
He worked to secure the appliance in its place, making necessary adjustments to put it in working order. He stood and smiled motioning for my approval, pointing to the old yellow stove, dirt and grime, chipped off paint, wobbly and uneven. His eyes narrowed as he scanned my face looking for any sign of disapproval. “Forty dollars and its electric” his words hung overhead too heavy to be absorbed. He spoke of having friends over and the meals that would be prepared on the newly purchased appliance.
A sick and familiar feeling and the realization that nothing had actually changed became my focus. The hope that this move to Saudi would make him happy and somehow things would return to normalcy. I pulled my thoughts together and remembered life was a test not meant to be neglected or lived in frivolous luxury.
A pan of water bubbled on the burner; pasta was thrown in and cooked, drained and served with butter and salt. Stirring became treacherous and with each touch of the metal spoon, tiny zaps shocked my hand. Two burners were operational, the inside of the oven spewed out smoke and grit. I smiled and stirred quickly trying to avoid these blips, not knowing what was wrong or daring to inquire.
A dismal expression crossed his face as he stared down at noodles, salt and butter. The usual words were spoken that signaled dissatisfaction “what is in this?” I had learned that responses should be short, respectful and exact. He was disappointed that I was not acting like a woman who loved to create pastries and homemade dishes, what was wrong with me, noodles with salt and butter? Why, no one would imagine I was a lady who loved to experiment with baking and cooking, host dinner parties and prepare special dishes for ailing friends. I explained that the inside of the stove did not work properly and when I stirred food on the stove top it seemed something was shocking me. This was met with a long hard look and words that would prove to epitomize my life from that point forward, “Well, USE a wooden spoon then!”
Reminds me of John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath. Woman, you had patience and forbearance. So what am I complaining about?:-)
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Haha
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Hmmmm….I feel like there’s so much to say but where to start? I guess…why did you leave Seattle??
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Wow. What happened to your husband, is he still alive?
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he is living in saudi and things have been up and down lived through many interesting twists and turns and we are still legally married
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That statement would have had me irritated too, especially being in a new place, surrounded by a new culture and without all the luxuries of home. Sometimes there is no reasoning however, for those who aren’t in our shoes.
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yes ! well this I would say is the best line that would sum everything up
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So it begins…
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yes!
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Wow, it seems like a slow slide into being made to feel powerless. I’m so glad you got out. Abuse against women is so common in many places and we are made to feel it is our fault. Sorry you and your children had to live through this and happy you survived.
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Thanks Liz I just moved back here to the U.S. 6 years ago and it has been an up hill battle!
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It might be an uphill battle in the U.S. but at least you have your freedom now after all those terrible years. You are not alone, many women put up with a lot of hardship for the sake of their children, and bide their time till they can leave.
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Yes very true! I am just happy to be here
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Obviously you were meant to be a magician. No wonder you describe the compounds as so luxurious. Anything would be compared to an empty villa. Reminds me of my first apartment in NYC. I only lasted a month there, and no one expected a gourmet meal out of me.
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ha ha well it was quite a journey lol
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I have heard and read stories like your before. How men from the Middle East totally change once they move back to their country. Never let your freedom be taken away from you.
I am catching up on this story and hoping it has a good ending. ☺
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Thanks so much for reading! My newest stories are under THE VISIT at the top of my blog.
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I have been reading them most of the day but I will have to get back later. I am babysitting my granddaughters at 6:00 pm. My daughter is taking her hubby out for his birthday. I will try to get some reading done after the girls go to sleep. I have so many books to catch up on and review. It seems there’s never enough time in a day. Plus I am trying to get my next book together.
I do find your story interesting, sad and it fills me with many questions. I hope you write a book and give us the full story with all the details. I am sure it would be a best seller. ☺☺
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I am trying to write a book and hope to get it done. Thanks for the support! Greatly appreciated! Have a nice evening!
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I too find your story fascinating, and am trying to catch up whenever I have some free time. Are you still living in Seattle now?
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No we moved from seattle to saudi and then back to Idaho near my hometown. Thanks for reading.
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You’re welcome!
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