A Jambiya with a Story

One of my goals while on the Arabian Peninsula was to purchase a jambiya. The jambiya is a curved dagger worn on a man’s belt. It’s most often associated with Yemen, and today, is typically just an accessory. While in a Saudi souq, I found an antique store that held random bits of Arabian life – old swords, paintings of royal families, large vases, giant steel dishes to roast goat in, old tribal jewelry, and a small selection of jambiyas. The jambiyas ranged in price from several thousands of dollars to $50. The more expensive ones were gorgeous with rhino horn or elephant ivory gem-encrusted hilts, gold and silver plated sheaths. The less expensive ones were not as well maintained, some were even falling apart, others had leather sheathes and wooden handles – they looked more authentic and possibly even used once or twice, the metal blade slightly worn.

I was with a small group of people, including some men, some of whom spoke Arabic, thankfully. The storeowner, who happened to be Saudi, wanted nothing to do with me. He was standing around talking to two other Saudi men and wouldn’t wait on me. I understood this was all part of the culture there, so I wasn’t much surprised; I even expected it. But I was taken aback that it was finally happening to me.  Since the man wouldn’t wait on me and I had questions, I appealed to his son nearby, who looked like he was 13 and never interacted with a woman before. I asked some questions, sometimes having to charade what I wanted, as the boy didn’t speak much English. He was very shy, probably because I was one of the only women he’s ever spoken to aside from women family members. He was clearly learning his father’s business. He couldn’t answer some of my questions, so he would ask his father. His father reluctantly let him assist me.

At this point, I asked some of the men I were with to speak Arabic to the father and son so that I could potentially purchase a jambiya. I wanted to know how old some of them were, as well as the starting price for negotiations (everything sold in the souq is bargained for). The shop owner was trying to convince me that a brand new looking jambiya was 150 years old – it was perfectly maintained, and as a seasoned shopper, I didn’t believe it for a second. I found one that I did like, however, in my price range and that looked authentic. I was told it was between 40 and 60 years old and it was from Yemen. The negotiating began via my translators. Luckily they weren't growing tired of my shopping and were willing to help me out. It was quite the event. I’ve negotiated plenty on my own before and am usually quite successful, often getting the asking price down to half. It’s quite the game for me! This situation was altogether different – dealing with a father who was not happy to be interacting with a strange Western woman, unhappy that his son was helping, and me having to negotiate with two men assisting me via a foreign language. After about 15 minutes of negotiating, we came to a price that was acceptable to me and the storeowner would budge no further. I bought a jambiya in Saudi Arabia! And it had quite the story to go along with it.

The Bedazzled Abaya

Many women in the Middle East, although they must conform to the law, try to differentiate themselves, be stylish, and stand out from all the other women in their black abayas. Apparently, abayas are allowed to be stylish via many different designs and accoutrements. Women also style themselves to stand out - although they are forced to wear long black garments and cover their hair, many young women wear designer sunglasses, designer shoes, sometimes with heels, and carry designer purses. Many women, who can afford it, wear fancy gold bangle bracelets and earrings. Because much of a woman's face isn't shown, eye makeup is essential. Heavy black eyeliner that extends further than the eyelash line on both top and bottom accentuates a woman's eyes. I found myself wearing heavier eye makeup than usual when I wore my abaya, particularly when I wore my new one.

There were two parts of the souq – the more touristy section carrying the typical glass perfume bottles, camel stuffed animals, fake gold tea sets, and other kitsch-y type items, and then the more traditional part of the market where abayas, food stuffs, fabrics, and jewelry are sold. While I bought a large green glass perfume bottle (green is the color of the Saudi royal family) to add to my collection, I was largely under impressed with the Saudi souq for shopping, which surprised me.  I just wasn’t finding much that caught my attention, which was a bit of a disappointment.

I did, however, purchase my own abaya! At a tiny section of the souq, where local women were shopping, there was a little abaya shop run by an Indian man. (As a side note, many shops are run by expats, largely Indian, Pakistani, or Southeast Asian men; women are not permitted to own shops and Saudi men often don’t work in stores, unless it’s a business kept in the family, as they see it being beneath them. This also extends to other countries on the Arabian Peninsula. Practically every Arabian Peninsula family also hires expats to nanny children and clean the house. Salaries are quite low and domestic workers are often treated poorly. Saudi men are given stipends from the government, as well, providing a small salary.)

I went in and was surrounded by rows of abayas hung on hangers. Many of the abayas had rhinestones or sparkles on the sleeves, the back, or along the snaps in the front. Some were embroidered on the sleeves or edges of the scarf with flowers or other designs. Others had ruching on the sleeves to give different designs, such as bell bottom sleeves. I had to ask the store owner was size abaya I should get. I think what I ended up with was a size 56; however, my loaner abaya I started out with was a size 28 – so no consistency in the sizing.  The abaya that I bought was beautiful - the sleeves had periwinkle and purple embroidered flowers with large rhinestones amidst them, the same pattern was on the middle of my back, and the scarf had the same design on one corner of it. The embroidered part was quite heavy, but the abaya itself was fairly light, unlike the loaner abaya. I was looking forward to wearing the lighter fabric in the heat. My new garment didn’t have double-layered fabric, like the loaner abaya had, and the snaps were much better, too. The store owner informed me I was purchasing a newer style of clothing. I finally felt like the cool kid in high school with my new bedazzled abaya, rather than the dorky kid with hand-me-down clothes that didn’t fit quite right.

Turkish Delight

I dressed in my loaner abaya for my first night ‘out on the town’ in Riyadh. I was only able to go out because I had men with me. Women are not allowed to be out and about without a man. A man related to the woman must accompany her at all times outside of the house, even if it’s only an 8 year old son. I often saw groups of women out, sometimes shopping, with a little boy as their escort. As a sidenote, women are also not allowed to drive, even if it means a little boy must drive them – I saw a boy, possibly the age of 12, driving a minivan with women in it.

My night out centered around a trip to a Turkish restaurant. My group entered through the ‘family’ door into the ‘family’ section of the restaurant, and we were quickly ushered upstairs to a room with a door, away from the general public. I felt comfortable enough to take my hijab off, although I continued to wear my abaya. I ordered a ‘mocktail,’ a popular substitute for cocktails in the Middle East, as alcohol is illegal. The mocktail was essentially sparkling apple juice. Later in my stay, I had mocktails of incredible fruit juices. Fresh fruit and vegetable juices are a mainstay of the culture, and I wish that food and cultural staple would make its way here to the US. Everywhere there you can get such delicious concoctions of fresh watermelon, cherry, raspberry, and strawberry juices. They were addicting.

I had a delicious mezze platter of hummus (pureed chickpeas, olive oil), baba ganoush (eggplant mixture), tabouli (couscous, parsley, and greens salad), stuff grape leaves, and huge huge slabs of wood-fired flat breads. It was simple, delicious, and satisfying, capable of being a full meal in itself. However, I ordered lamb kabobs and rice, which was only average.

The decor in the restaurant was... interesting. On two levels of the restaurant by the stairs were glass enclosures with taxidermied animals in odd positions. I was told there was a larger giraffe upstairs.

After a long dinner, it was time for my first shopping experience in a Saudi souq. It was not an experience I will forget.

An Arabian Storm

A storm was rolling into Riyadh. The sky was turning yellow and hazy. I could see dark rain clouds and downpours in the distance, approaching. The lightening, and some thunder, was steady. Big fat raindrops slowly dropped down. There weren’t many. Even still, I sought shelter on the porch, where I sat and wrote my thoughts. The palm trees’ leaves were brown and dusty. I was hoping the soon-to-be downpour would clean them off. Everything was covered in Arabian dust and was need of a good washing. The ground was parched and in desperate need of water. It probably didn’t notice though because it was used to it. As the droplets fell, they dried up almost as soon as they hit anything. The air was turning gritty. My page was quickly becoming grainy beneath my hand and I had to wipe it off every so often. I was being driven inside by the blowing grit. Here, water is a best friend.

Raindrops on the wall

The ground’s reaction to a storm reminds of the US’ southwest, where just a small bit of rain can cause flooding - drains unable to compensate, small ponds form on low ground, lanes of the road become impassable

The downpour happened once I was inside.

When I returned to the muggy heat outside, I noticed the storm’s wind didn’t blow the dust off the palm trees’ leaves.