Abha – which almost rhymes with that famous singing group of yesteryear – is just a bit farther than an hour by plane from Jeddah’s King Abdul Aziz airport. In a jiffy, you enter another kind of country: One which is blessed by rainfall. Abha, along with Taif (which is the traditional summer capital, and even closer to Jeddah — reached by car in less than two hours), have become the most-favored summer resorts for those wishing to escape the baking heat of the peninsula. Thus, the city and its environs are dotted with the apartment buildings and "country" dwellings of the rich.
While the center of town looks traditional enough, with lovely mosques and Moorish-styled public buildings surrounding our hotel, the Assalam Palace, a short drive to the outskirts, will bring you to posh shopping malls, gleaming with glass and chrome, trendy restaurants and ethnic restaurant villages, the best of which is obviously the Khamis Mushayt, owned and operated by a dynamic and very locally famous multimillionaire named Dhafir A. All Hmsan, whose lordly family is known to all, and who has himself become a local legend.
The word Sheikh comes immediately to mind when All Hmsan greets you in his "kingdom" which looks like a six-story Arab fortress, but is all charm and color inside. In his early 40s, Hmsan is a cross between Omar Shariff and Rod Navarro (yep, our Rod) in his well-cut Western suit jacket, over the customary white thobe, that robe which runs from neck to ankle – resembling the priest’s white sotana back home – that seems to be the male uniform. In Saudi Arabia it is often difficult to tell who’s the boss and who’s the employee or hireling. The CEO and his chauffer wear similar-looking white thobes, made of either fine cotton or cheap polyester. Underneath these full-length, long-sleeved gowns are worn white shorts or long, drawstring pantaloons called sirwal. There’s a logic to this: Where we foreign journalists and, of course, westerners sweat it out in western clothes, the Saudi thobe-wearers are air-conditioned. The robe has a chimney-effect, as writer Kathy Cuddihy once put it, which draws air in at the bottom and allows it to circulate effectively, unimpeded by tight-waisted apparel.
The distinguishing Arab headgear is the red-and-white checkered head covering, called sham’agh,which serves both as protection from the blazing sun or can be used to cover one’s mouth if one gets caught in a sandstorm. Yes, there can be sandstorms in the desert-country, or a rain of heavy hailstones (of ice) up here in the mountains which could shatter your windshield and dent your vehicle. Occasionally, but less often, Saudis sport the white ghutrah head-covering. Both the checkered and the white head coverings are composed of a large square of cotton material folded diagonally over a white skull-cap (taquiya) and held in place by a black braided cord named igaal.
Everywhere, you’ll find Arab men going about in these outfits.
VIPs and Royals, of course, distinguish themselves with the type of cloak they wear over the regulation thobe, either made of finely-woven wool or camel hair, called a bisht or mishlah.
Well, I could say more — but so much for Saudi GQ. Alas, the ladies are swathed from neck to toe in the black abaya, and have head-covering scarves and burqa masks, to boot. The only place, methinks, where you can see some of them unveiled is inside the pages of a glossy magazine named Arabian Women, and even then, just a handful of them.
"You Filipinos are great – talented, kind, hospitable, hardworking and trustworthy!" He enthuses, showing us around his museum of Arabic artifacts and trivia, which include serried photographs of his ancestors, who rode with King Ibn Saud Abdul Aziz, the founder of the dynasty and the Kingdom. On the walls are those long-stemmed, ornate Arab rifles, and swords, and daggers, and camel bags et cetera.
He was featured not long ago in the London glossy magazine Royalty when he accompanied HRH Prince Khalid Al-Faisal Al-Saud to a "Painting and Patronage" exhibition which included 26 oil paintings by Prince Khalid alongside 30 watercolors by His Royal Highness, Prince Charles, the Prince of Wales. In the photographs, there was "Sheikh" All Hmsan, big as life, in a chief’s white costume, with dagger in sash, standing with bonnie Prince Charlie, and another photo showed him profferring a drink (with the Prince bent over the golden goblet) – perhaps of San Miguel NAB – which you can find on supermarket shelves here in Aseer, or everywhere else in the Kingdom. This time, San Miguel is in green and gold cans, with the familiar tagline "since 1890", but classified as NAB or Non-Alcoholic Beer.
Not all Pinoys and Pinays in the magic land of "Saudi", on the other hand, are in such salubrious circumstances. When I was leaving our hotel in Jeddah, my Desert Ali-kabok, a Pinoy who was worked in the Kingdom for eight years, slipped me a dossier on the "negative side".
It’s true enough, the "report" said, that there are abused maids who are so desperate that they escape from harsh or you-know, abusive employers, by climbing out of the window – even by rappelling from upper windows with a rope. In one of the latest cases in Jeddah (three weeks ago), according to my Desert Alikabok, a maid was able to get away because a Saudi gentleman married to a Filipina took pity on her and smuggled a length of rope into the house for her. At an appointed hour when her employers went out, the maid (who comes from Basilan, incidentally) rappelled by rope down to the ground and was rushed by the couple who were waiting outside to haven with a Filipino family.
The Consulate doesn’t like to refer to "safe houses", but there are havens in Jeddah where as many as 40 domestic helpers, males separately from females, are kept secure while they try to "get justice" through the legal system, or get clearance at least to leave the country. (Incidentally, some of the persons "abused" are men).
This is not to say that many maids are cruelly treated or harassed. Most of them, especially those who work with well-to-do and prominent households, are very well- contented – and, some, in fact become almost members of the family.
Since we arrived, we’ve been interviewing Ministers and Deputy Ministers in a number government ministries and agencies. Almost all of them said they had Filipino domestic helpers and yayas. One very impressive Minister, who’d been educated in England and the USA (and had sent his sons off to pursue the same type of education), remarked: "My boys are almost Filipinos in their thinking. They were brought up with Filipina nannies–whom they love dearly." This was in Riyadh, the capital.
Another, a Deputy Minister in Jeddah, spoke of his driver Cesar who was so devoted to him, diligent, and dependable, that he’d become an irreplaceable member of the household. "Why," the very articulate, humorous, and dynamic official beamed, "Cesar even converted to Islam a few years ago."
Another "negative" aspect of Pinoy life here, my Desert Alikabok says, is that many are addicted to gambling. The most common game is a lottery dubbed "Thai Alai", because the three winning combinations are based on the last three digits of Thailand’s national lottery. Draws are held twice a month.
The bangkero are Thais, although some, sez Alikabok, are rogue operators who run away and hide when they lose, to avoid paying off the legitimate winners. Most of the bettors (victims?) are Pinoys, although many Indians, Bangladeshis, Pakistanis, and Sri Lankans also participate.
In "Thai Alai", it seems, there are some real winners but most are losers. This game siphons away the earnings of mostly the lowly-paid such as janitors, construction workers, drivers, barbers, beauticians, badings (Alikabok’s term). These are the heaviest bettors. It is not uncommon to hear of a janitor whose monthly salary of 1,000 Riyals (P13,000) gets sucked away, because he bets SR 500 monthly hoping to hit the jackpot. Kung sino pang mababa ang sahod, D.A. mourns, siya ang malakas tumaya.
Anyway, that’s enough for now. More woes, plus some "sunshine", hopefully, in a future column.