The inspiration for these writings has stemmed from my life's travels and the people who have influenced me while I adventure. The details that make up the world breathe life into my journey. Those breaths, those moments of windedness, are what I want to share with you.

When I travel, lanes are so wide.


Monday, May 23, 2011

Hijab Girlfriends

I was told that I’d have to de-plane wearing my abaya (black robe) and hijab (head scarf) in Riyadh, although, it was a bit of a surprise to see how everyone gets changed or dressed on the plane. The closer we got into Saudi air space, more and more people took trips to the tiny bathroom to get changed. Women who weren’t already dressed, unpacked their black abayas and hijabs from their carry-ons and began to put them on. I did the same. Luckily I had an empty seat next to me so that I could get more easily situated. It was pretty difficult keeping my abaya all snapped up, neck to ankle, while maneuvering. It was even more difficult to put my hijab on for the first time and without a mirror. Some bobby pins helped, but only somewhat. I looked to my right and two beautiful young Arab women were sitting by the window giggling, watching the entertainment in front of them. I smiled. They mimed how I should put it on and some changes I should make. I tried to comply. They smiled and nodded once I looked how I should.

Throughout the flight, men would take prayer rugs to the back of the plane where there was a bit of extra space and pray. The tv screens had a flight map depicting what countries we were flying over and which way Mecca was. The men prayed facing in the direction of Mecca, the Muslim holy city.
As Western airports have chapels, prayer rooms or prayer areas are consistent in Middle Eastern airports. A simple wall blocked off an area of the airport, men would leave their shoes outside of it, unroll prayer rugs, and perform their five-times-a-day ritual as airline passengers passed by behind them.
As I disembarked and entered the lines for customs in the Riyadh airport, I noticed line after line of men, many Indian, Pakistani, and Southeast Asian men patiently waiting to pass through. Women were quickly escorted through the ‘family’ line, so as to not have to wait with the men. Segregation was apparent. I quickly made it through customs. It was a bit entertaining hearing the custom's official trying to pronounce my name.

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