VISITS TO THE KINGDOM

Guest Post by Maggie

 

Okay, sharing a story here, so either get your popcorn or put on your snooze mask. Once upon a long time ago, I flew around this world as a radar tech on the big plane you see around Air Force bases from time to time that has the black and white frisbee on top of it. I was, to those in the acronym business, an ART (Airborne Radar Tech) on AWACS (Airborne Warning and Control System). Hrrrrrahhhh. or whatever it was we did in those meetings.

So, in the 1980s, the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia felt threatened by a little dispute going on between his neighbors to the north, aka Iran and Iraq, but which were actually simply arbitrary countries formed out of ancient Persia and Mesopotamia where the Turks, Mongols and Muslims fought for centuries to dominate all that sand, dust and a few nice oases. So, having descended from a Bedouin warrior who’d ridden into Riyadh and killed the current King at the gates of his own palace for the crown, this king was worried that if one or the other of his neighbors’ to the north were successful in eliminating the other leader and uniting Persia on the map, his Kingdom was next.

Because he was sitting on an ocean of oil, he thought the United States might be interested in forming a partnership. He was right. The U.S. started flying surveillance missions in Saudi Arabia in the early 80s, with the very first crews actually housed in cottages on the palace grounds. When I became one of the first female ARTs in AWACS (number 5 here) I actually was assigned to a crew that had two of the original crew members who’d been “guests” of the king that first exciting mission to Arabia.

So, now fast forward to 1986, when I traveled there for the first time. By then, the Iran-Iraq war had been ongoing for almost six years officially and the 3 or 4 week TDY (Temp Duty) to the Al Yamamah (the hotel which the King had requisitioned for the aircrews of the AWACS and refueling support crews necessary to keep the planes in the air for those missions) had become routine to older crewdogs. I was wet behind the ears, of course, and very excited to go to such an exotic place.

I listened carefully to all the briefings I was required to attend. My female crewmate, Debbie, had been there a dozen times or more and snoozed most of the briefings, telling me not to worry, she’d show me the ropes. Well, we climbed onto a crowded cargo plane and with a brief layover in Germany for fuel and the last couple of beers a few could guzzle down, we made it to the air field in Riyadh which also served as the commercial airport. Hot dusty air blasted into the airplane when the doors were opened and I felt sticky and dirty before I ever got onto the crew bus to be taken to the hotel.

Fortunately for me, Debbie was savvy on what was going on and we both snuck off to grab a cigarette behind the maintenance hangar, with her explaining it would take at least a half hour for the bags to be off loaded and put on the truck. She assured me they would be in a big pile at the hotel lobby. They were. We grabbed our bags and keys to our room from the front desk and she led me to the end of the hall, where the servants elevator was waiting, telling me that the other elevators were always too slow on arrival day. She told me to only use the servant elevators in the day or with someone else, because some of the men the Saudis brought in to cook, clean and “serve” them were really creepy and spooky. I would find out just how true that was shortly.

She took me to the hotel’s store and I bought what we called an abayah, the black robe I was to wear over my clothes when out of uniform or in public outside hotel grounds. Several of us went downtown a couple of times, with Deb and I walking amongst the guys on the streets and in the souks where the gold, silver, rugs, and all kinds of fascinating wares were displayed in ancient fashion, with salesmen weighing the precious metals and offering the lovely pieces of jewelry for XXXXX Riyal, “special price just for you.” When the speakers blasted with the call to prayers, the shopkeepers would close their doors and all the men would make their way to the mosque near chop-chop square (Yes, THAT kind of chop chop), leaving all the women and children sitting along the curbs while they said their requisite prayers to Allah.

On the second or third trip there, Deb and I were left alone on the street, when the two crew men we were with decided to go into the mosque and see what happened inside. There had been a Pakistani guy trying to talk to us all night coming up to us saying “America is Goot!” and reaching out to touch Deb’s hair. She did not wear the hair covering sometimes, opting to roll her long blond hair into a knot on back of her head to hide most of it. But, children on buses (we had to sit in the back with the other women and kids) would also try to touch her blond hair and stare at her blue eyes.

I was quite happy to be brown haired, brown eyed those days. However, the guy was obviously not Saudi, wearing the long shirt and pajama like pants of the Pakistani rather than the Saudi garb (she explained that to me and how many of the Pakistanis were brought in to do the manual labor the “true” Saudis would not do… I was still quite the novice), so she felt quite comfortable being rude to his comments about America being good, slapping his hand away and telling me to just move on. Anyway, while sitting on the curb, we saw him looking at us before going into the mosque.

She and I, being more than a little overly audacious, rebellious and perhaps stupid, decided to wander behind the mosque and smoke cigarettes until the prayer call ended. (No women in Saudi are allowed to smoke. Not even Camels… pun intended.) While sitting there, burying our cigarette butts in the sand and chain smoking to pass the time, only the occasional Saudi woman would pass by, looking at us with either amusement or disproving glares. What did we care? They were, after all, only women.

When the back “door” of the mosque creaked open, I hurriedly buried my burning cigarette in the sand, fearful it was one of the Mullahs (Prayer police dudes) carrying one of those sticks they smacked people with to get them to hurry to prayer call. (Deb and I had already been smacked for not covering our hair on an earlier trip downtown.) I pulled my abayah neckline up over my hair and looked at my feet. A moment later, Debbie said “Oh Good Grief! It is THAT guy who’s been following us.” I said “Well, just stare at the ground and maybe he’ll just go away.” She pulled her abayah over her hair like I had done and we both sat there still and stared at the ground until a pair of dirty grimy feet in sandals stopped in front of us. Debbie muttered… “Shit, he’s just standing here. What to do?” I said “Just ignore him and he will go away.”

Surely he wouldn’t do anything brazen with the mosque entrance just yards away and the street full of wives awaiting their husbands’ return? After a few seconds, Deb groaned “Martha, he is NOT just going away.” I looked up to discover that our Pakistani admirer was standing in front of us with his pajama pants down around his knees and his long shirt lifted to his chest, exposing his uncircumcised thing hanging slightly erect about two feet from our heads. When he saw we were both looking, he grinned at us and said “America is GOOT!” We jumped up, Deb shoved him as hard as her 5’2″ frame would allow, causing him to stumble and fall and we ran like maniacs out to the street, looking frantically for our male chaperones in the crowd of men leaving the mosque.

After we found them, they ran behind the mosque to kick some ass (they said… duh, right… in a nation where we were supposed to do as the natives do?) but couldn’t find the guy. After we got back to the hotel, they had to spread the story and Deb and I were chastised for going off alone like that, with new rules for women downtown imposed by those who like to overreact at any opportunity. In all my travels around the world and this country, I find it really ironic that the only place I’ve ever been flashed is in Saudi Arabia, not one hundred yards away from the place where they whack things off for what they consider immoral behavior.

Photo is Deb and I on another adventure, when we got to see the annual Camel Races and the King’s personal band performed then came over to the area where we were sitting. She and I were not required to wear abayas, the U.S. forces invited as “special guests” of the King and once we asked this guy to pose with us, several of the band members dragged out their cameras and wanted pictures of the American Babes (Okay, mostly they wanted their picture with blond petite Debbie, but those who know what a camera ham I am have to know I demanded to be in the pictures too.)

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TE
TE

Thank you for sharing this Maggie. Truly unique first person, and a woman, account of the Kingdom of Saud.

There are no words to describe my disbelief at the insanity some call belief. Your story brings it to life.

SSS

Maggie

Ironically, there is ANOTHER Martha who sued the Department of Defense to repeal the policy that military women serving in Saudi Arabia have to wear the abayah when off-duty and out in public. She won and later retired as an Air Force colonel.

She is currently running for a seat in Congress in Arizona’s 2nd Congressional District, where I reside. Read more abut her here.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martha_McSally

Maggie
Maggie

Thanks TE… I posted a section of it first on FB as a comment to a friend who joked about her and her female friends visiting the local mosque in response to one of the megachurches holding a special informational islamic “service” for the purposes of promoting diversity and acceptance. I haven’t heard from her… am hoping she didn’t think I was being a smart ass. Wait… OH YEAH… I AM a smart ass. Well, then.

Anyway, I emailed it to the boss here and offered it for others’ to read. Am just full of all kinds of these stories about things I have seen and done whilst wearing the uniform of the USA…

Maggie
Maggie

@SSS… that is ironic. I remember her lawsuit. I was still on active duty then, but remember walking the streets of Riyadh and having the pervs ogle me and try to touch me, so was actually glad to have the abaya between them and I. I also know another female AWACer I flew with who told me a story about being grabbed while downtown even with male chaperones due to her being Hawaiin and the Mullahs thought her to be a young Saudi gal out chumming with the American riffraff. They had to put in a frantic call to the Embassy to get her found. She was being held at gunpoint in a little room off a side street and was scared out of her wits. She said she never went out on the street there again.

Maggie
Maggie

By the way, when I saw the crazy lady ranting about her little “girl” Snow, who just wanted to live, I was reminded of the running joke at the Al Yamamah dining room, where the food was usually very disgusting, overcooked and seasoned with something that made dirt seem tasty. There were a few “standby” things one could always order if the special of the day was particularly unappealing, one was a hamburger, which was passable, made from Australian grass fed cattle, so quite a bit leaner and had a different taste than our ground beef (I learned to appreciate grass fed beef there) and the other was Shish Ta Ook (not sure of spelling)… which was supposed to be Kabobs of chicken, but the Philippino waitstaff would always chuckle when we ordered it and I soon found out the running joke was that it was really Shish Ta Kitty… apparently, cats are a delicacy there. There indeed were zero stray cats and dogs on the streets of Riyahd.

mabuk
mabuk

A flasher in the public square, steps from the masjid — wonderful storytelling.

Maggie, wonderful story, you are a very gifted writer, and I hope you continue to post more stories like this. Even given the bullshit you must have seen and endured during your travels, somehow your voice never comes across as cynical — kudos to you, keep up the good work and maybe consider self-publishing something larger for all those stories you have — as TE mentioned, it is a point of view not often heard, one backed up by hard-won experience abroad that could help people understand that the world is not as monolithic as it appears on their television.

Maggie
Maggie

@mabuk, thank you for your kind words. I’ve actually put out a message to help find Debbie. She and I had several wonderful adventures whilst traveling to the Kingdom, to Iceland and beyond. She escaped a few years after that picture was taken and we stayed in touch for a while, but lost contact as friends do.

IndenturedServant

I grew up on military bases all over. As kids we always called the AWACS “the bionic m&m”.

Torrejon seemed to be a big stopover point for AWACS when I was there in the early 80’s. We had quite a few American kids at the high school there from Suadi kindly referred to as Dormies. I remember they all had gold bars on gold chains around there necks.

IndenturedServant

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Stucky

FASCINATING story.

Can’t believe I almost missed it. Should have had Top Billing / Lead Story.

Maggie ….. drinker of beer … chain-smoker of cigs …. temptress of men to show their shlongs ….. WHO WOULDA THUNK IT !!

Really good stuff, Maggie!!

Stucky

The Admin is my Shephard, I shall not want, he maketh me to post on strange blogs … blah blah blah

Cool!

Bostonbob

Great read Maggie, thank you for sharing. Mu wife and I have a good friend who is a Colonel in the Army who has entertained us with some very funny stories about her tours in Iraq, before the current meltdown. Many of the people in the Middle East are so far removed from what we consider normal it makes for interesting interactions.
Thank you,
Bob.

Bostonbob

Mu=My

flash
flash

Interesting read…years back, client of mine , female, was a VP at a major corporation that had operations in the Saudi Asspit and as such she was invited to meet some prince buttranger and took along her husband, who had nothign to do with the corp , but was interested in sightseeing
Turns out the meeting was held over a huge feast , and due to strict laws dictating social mental illness towards the opposite sex , she had to sit in another room with the wives , while her husband feasted with the prince..he got a big laughs wherever he told that story. and she noted the irony since her hubby didn’t know squat about the operations of the corp , and neither cared , but business continued as usual.

Axel
Axel

I was in Saudi for seven months for Desert Shield and Desert Storm. Then, as now, I thought we were fighting the wrong enemy–the Iraqis were more like us and the Saudis treated the Americans who were defending them, like shit.

Welshman
Welshman

Maggie,

Fun read, thank you. So you know I am older than dirt, I worked on radar picket planes call EC-121T
Constellation (Connies). The planes were stationed at a Naval Air Station at Moffett Field in Sunnyvale, CA. I kept these planes in fresh batteries and they had many.

Maggie
Maggie

@ Everyone… thanks so much for the kind words and encouragement. I will be sharing more stories soon, I hope.

@ Welshman…there is a Connie right outside the building where my husband still teaches crew dogs. Perhaps, I’ll have him take a photo of me and post it here for you to travel down memory lane with. (In a dignified way.)

@Axel… I spent a 6 week TDY at Desert Storm. By then, AWACS had been moved out of downtown Hotel status and was placed in a little conglomeration of villas out in the desert. I am working on a story about that trip now.

@flash… I spent my share of time at dinners in the “family” room, where women were welcome. My husband got to attend a “goat grab”… a feast where the men sit crosslegged and eat goat meat and vegetables out of a single pot placed in the middle of the men. He said it was tasty, but while he used a fork to select his meat and vegetables, he was rather put off by the way the Saudi men just reached in both hands and ate directly from the pot. He left hungry. I didn’t get to go to the goat grab. No girls allowed. Thank God.

@BostonBob… I had a previous husband prior to this one and he was a total ass. He actually left me across town at a mall in Riyadh because of a smart ass comment I made and I had to find my way back to the hotel alone, wearing jeans and my abaya. No buses would stop for me and no taxi either, but many cars slowed with less than friendly stares and more than once, I ducked into stores or doorways to avoid some rude sounding Arabic yelling. I don’t think I was ever so relieved to see that stinking Al Yamamah Hotel in my life as I was that day. We divorced soon after that.

@Stucky and Admin… I do appreciate the kind words and I’m fairly sure that it was Debbie’s blond mane of hair and tiny frame that attracted the weirdo wanting his “thing” whacked off. Debbie later asked me if I’d seen how dirty it was… as if he’d been dragging it in the dirt. I told her I had NOT looked as closely as she obviously had. She was a great mentor. I hope someone puts me in contact with her soon.

Maggie
Maggie

@Stucky… I quit smoking over 7 years ago. I still drink a LOT of beer and red wine. For medicinal purposes.

IndenturedServant

Maggie, as I recall, the AF had a locator service where you can send your contact info and the name/s of anyone you are looking for and they will forward your info to them if they have valid contact info for the person you are looking for. Seems to me it was slow as molasses.

Also, for a one time fee of about $15-20 for 30 days access you can you can find people online via public records search. If you have a full name and rough idea where they may be or were born, you should find them pretty easily. With a little diligence I have located just about anyone I was looking for online with nothing more than a name without paying a fee but the $15-20 is well worth in in time saved.

Maggie
Maggie

@Indentured Servant… I have a photo of myself in flight suit standing in front of one of those planes… the one, I believe, that eventually crashed and burned in Alaska. God rest their souls.

mickthecat1998
mickthecat1998

I worked as a civilian nurse in Riyadh back in the early 90’s just before Desert Shield. I worked at the King Fahad National Guard Hospital. Maggie’s story reminded me vividly of the creepy foreign men working in the Kingdom, trying any method possible to cop a feel from a Western (preferably blond) woman. The Mutawa (religious Taliban-like police) were in full force only after their afternoon naps. The key to shopping in Riyadh was to do it in the morning while the Saudi men still slept and snored. I managed to have a good time living on our compound with other Westerners, had nothing to do with local Saudis as they would throw you under the bus if they knew you brewed your own beer and wine….you can do anything living in a religious police state for a few years. Fond memories with the exception of (unwittingly ) witnessing a beheading at Chop Chop square.

Maggie
Maggie

@ Indentured Servant…I may invest in finding Debbie. I can’t believe I lost track of someone with whom I shared so many rebellious adventures.

@mickthecat1998…I heard about the nurses at Kind Faud. Particularly, the British nurses, both male and female were known for being able to throw a party in the kingdom. Are you one of them?

Mickthecat1998
Mickthecat1998

@Maggie…..yes, joint party ventures between American, Canadian and British nurses. We made “premium” brew and it was widely established that all party guests were allowed to sleep off the booze on host premises so as not to get caught by authorities going back to home compound. Perfectly respectful and dry necessary. We made lifelong friends with each other

Maggie
Maggie

@Admin… Perhaps this is a good place for me to tack my comment about the resolution of our tax dilemma concerning my Pop in law’s annuity?

I wanted to pop in here and update my husband and my status regarding the letter from the IRS I commented about two months ago. So you don’t have to scroll through the comments above, here is the comment I posted above in August.

***

My father-in-law passed two years ago, leaving two annuities that were re-titled and distributed to my husband (executor) and his brother. One of the annuities did not send my husband the cost/earnings statement, but sent it to the IRS. The total “profit” to my husband via the General Rule was $13 on a final distribution of approximately $1500, but my husband did not report that $13 as income, since the insurance company had not sent him the statement prior to his filing our taxes in 2012.

For the last five months, the IRS has been sending my husband threatening letters, first saying he owed over $2,000 in tax, fines and penality for that unreported income, then backing off to claiming he owed $212 on the earnings of the annuity. They sent him a packet of paperwork to fill out that made absolutely no sense whatsoever… being related to non-reportable IRA contributions, which we could not in any way figure out a relationship to an annuity purchased to help with nursing home expenses.

Anyway, my point here is this: At MOST, the IRS will garner a few dollars up to $212 they last claimed to be owed from my husband’s interest earned on that annuity (which was paid almost entirely to my Dad-in-law and reported on HIS taxes.) So, that means that for five months, some IRS has directed efforts toward this… and we have little hope they will accept my husband’s latest correspondence quoting the rules that apply and offering to pay the tax on the $13 he failed to report.

*** end of original comment

Yesterday, we received a letter from the IRS that says nothing. I would scan it if I could, but since we’ve already packed up the house, including the scanner/printer that consumes ink faster than my car burns gas, I will just cite the relevant sentences from somebody at the Austin Texas IRS office.

“Thank you for your response of Aug. 13, 2014.

We used the information you provided to make the adjustment(s) to your adjusted gross income and/or taxable income. This did not increase the amount of tax on your account.

If you have any questions…. ”

Now, I THINK that means they realize that all of this was a big waste of theirs and our time, but it could be that they are just hoping to find a way to turn that additional $13 of income we failed to report into a way to repay the national debt.

I just returned from another whirlwind trip to our little Ozark haven, which is very heaven like for me indeed. However, my cousin came up to bow hunt while I was there and the morning she was preparing to go (she was not successful, but found several places she thought were promising for future visits, so I left her a set of key to the gate and the birdhouse, hoping to find a nice venison roast in the freezer of the INTERNATIONAL HARVESTER refrigerator that I cleaned 30 year old jars and margarine tubs full of petrified stuff from, scrubbed and bleached, and plugged in to hear the whir and hum of a kitchen appliance made in a country which once boasted of the quality of its manufacturing capability. This was while we were getting the birdhouse inhabitable. The birdhouse is the 600 square foot home we renovated for the Yoder clan to live in while they built our log home last year.

So, it is also where we live when we travel there to work on the place and where we will live for a few months until we are ready to occupy the log home, which is completed and “dried in” now, but I prefer this image of it in progress “crawling with Yoders” that was taken while I was living in Missouri last winter with cousins.

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Anyway, I’ve probably posted this elsewhere here, but with all the trips back and forth I’ve lost track of when and where I’ve told my anecdotes. If you have already “heard” this, I apologize, but I can’t help but think that the IRS is literally stalking me these days.

While my cousin was packing up her truck, I’d left the normally locked gate open until she drove away. It was about 8:30 a.m. last Monday morning, the day before I travelled back here to Oklahoma. A Ford Explorer slowed down on the county road and turned in my driveway. Pulled up to the stairs where my cousin and I were standing on the balcony, admiring the overgrown woods beside the creek just across the gravel drive. Out pops a man with a clipboard… my first uninvited visitor to the land was the county tax assessor, snooping around to see if we are living in the log home yet. (NOPE, we are living in birdhouse until log home is finished.) He regretfully admitted he can’t tax us on it until we live there, then he hopefully asked if we had ever camped out in it in sleeping bags. That way, he could tax as a temporary residence. I told him NO… that is why we have the birdhouse. I told him it was be next summer before we have the log home ready to live in, although, between you and me, we do plan to move in as soon as we get the bathroom in the basement operational. But, I am not telling the county that. (Although, last Christmas Eve, when the Yoders had the skeleton of the roof on, but no roof, Nick joined me in Missouri to do some work on the land with a Bobcat and we put an air mattress in the basement under the subfloor with space heaters on three sides and an electric blanket under us and spent our first Christmas morning in our log home. After shivering on and off all night and hurriedly dressing and getting in the car to thaw my feet, we spent the rest of the working trip at my cousins home, in their guest room. However, I did NOT tell the Tax Goon that, since I suspected that would mean the log home could be taxed for all of 2013!)

Good grief… I am locking that gate from now on no matter what. When I told my husband, he was livid. I just laughed it off, saying that even when we get the log home ready to live in, we should park at the birdhouse and walk the 200 yards to the log home at the end of the day, sneaking in the back door and closing all the shutters. And if the tax assessor discovers us there? Simply turn out the lights, head down the hill to the little house and say we are done working on the log home for the night.

I sit here in an empty home in Oklahoma, surrounded by a few boxes and three chairs, two folding tables, a couple of area rugs and a computer, keyboard and monitor. Coffee pot and a few kitchen tools are all that remain. The final inspection was yesterday and next week we close. I’ll be on sporadically and once we are living in the birdhouse and working on the log house, I’ll check in from time to time. I have another little story about leaving this neighborhood we’ve lived in 21 years, but I’ll not bore you with that unless asked.

Oh, and just so you all know. I did find the interview with Capt. McGonagle from 1995. However, after listening to my naive approach to interviewing him and listening to his rambling answers, I decided it really added nothing to the body of knowledge about the USS Liberty incident that was worth the troubling attention it was liable to draw (though at the time, it was shocking news to ME, having NEVER heard about it). So, will all due thanks for your interest in my early journalistic efforts, I have to say the tape will remain boxed up in the basement of that log home you see for quite some time.

I went to OU today for a final visit to my writing professor, Deborah Chester, who has had a modestly successful career as a scifi writer and from whom I reluctantly learned a lot. It was a nice visit. While there, I got a message from our buyers that the final inspection paperwork was turned in… closing next week? Hope so.

Maggie
Maggie

The birdhouse

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Ghost
Ghost

I return to the Kingdom via this old article once in a great while to update the neverending story.

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This is the birdhouse/treehouse now and it is NOT for sale, although we’ve had an unsolicited six-figure offer from a couple of gay dentists from Texas. The potential for free dental work for life was outweighed by the fact we might not have any teeth by the time our devout Christian neighbors got done kicking them in.

Axel
Axel

I was stationed with a Marine squadron during Desert Shield and Storm, and recall the Brits (particularly some of the special forces guys) used to come and hang out with the Marines, and brought some sort of home brewed rotgut alcohol native to the region…called it “Sid” or something. Anyone know what this was?

Stucky

The backwards pre-medieval shithole known as Saudi Arabia still practices crucifixion.

———-

“Nimr Baqer al-Nimr, a reformist cleric, has repeatedly called for an end to corruption and discrimination against minorities. He has a wide following, particularly among young people in Saudi Arabia’s Eastern Province, home to most of the country’s minority Shiites, who are considered heretics by the Sunni-ruled government.

After being imprisoned for nearly two years, al-Nimr appeared in Riyadh’s Specialized Criminal Court Wednesday with his lawyer and two brothers. Charged with terrorism offences and “breaking allegiance to the king,” the judge upheld the country’s harshest sentence — “crucifixion””

http://www.thestar.com/news/world/2014/10/15/saudi_court_sentences_highprofile_shiite_cleric_to_death.html?app=noRedirect

————

With friends like that, who needs enemies?
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mickthecat1998
mickthecat1998

@ Axel – yes, the home-brew was a distilled alcohol called Siddiqui (‘friend’ in Arabic) or Sid for short. It was brutal and you had to be careful to cut it with water a bit or to use sparingly in your cocktail. I perfected a nice Bordeaux myself thanks to Dad’s sulfite tablets (which I procured prior to departure) and airlocks for the fermentation process I was the envy of the compound. The Arab merchants at Safeway seemed to look the other way as the Western expats bought jerrycans full of grape juice in large quantities for their home wineries. My homemade beer tasted like crap however. Never did get that one right but had a good time trying…! If I was lucky enough, a nice Marine would gift me with Johnnie Walker Black Label.

Kill Bill
Kill Bill

Nice read Mags, I hope more monkeys [TBP regs, or not] relate their experiences. =)

Maggie
Maggie

@Kill Bill… WOW! I haven’t been called Mags for decades! Where did you come up with that?

During the onset of Desert Storm, I was actually “stuck” here in OKC training folks, but had a radio operator friend in the 8th TDCS who ferried VIPs across the pond almost weekly and could get packages into the compound where my friends and the old jerk of a husband were staying. I sent a bottle of Jack Black to my former supervisor (not the jerk hubs… he got crap. I had him served with divorce papers when he stepped off the plane coming back… another story another day). My former supervisor thanked me profusely for the bottle of Jack Daniels and said he’d cooked up a spaghetti feast for a few close friends who’d enjoyed it profusely, but that the spaghetti had given them all headaches.

Homer
Homer

Interesting. I passes 100% on my truth meter. Boy, that’s refreshing. I enjoyed the story.

I think that is what happens in a culture that is paternalistic. Women are seen as an object and not considered as an equal, different but equal. Because of male mistreatment of women there, I always thought if I were God, I wouldn’t have a women being born into that culture for two generations. It would be all males. Then maybe they would appreciate women as the true blessing that they are.

Maggie
Maggie

@Stucky, I made 13 (unlucky number or not, I was so happy that LAST trip, or so I thought) trips to the Kingdom during the ELF-1 operation (European Liaison Force that preceded Desert Shield/Storm and then Iraq attack and beyond). I was warned by Debbie NOT to go near the square when a crowd could be seen gathering there, especially on Fridays, as that indicated public trial and punishment. She herself had once made that mistake and been pushed to the front so she could see what happened to infidels and those who blaspheme against Allah.

However, one time, a few of us, midday while most of the Arabs were still sleeping, crossed Chop Chop square to save a few minutes on the way to the rug souks, and I glanced to the “front” of the square and saw a man hanging there, much like that one. I was horrified, but the group of us just hurried through, hoping the couple of guards wouldn’t notice us. Apparently, they did not.

Shudder. Shudder. Shudder.

Maggie
Maggie

@Homer…thank you. I’m humbled by your confidence in my integrity.

Anonymous
Anonymous

Maggie- he [ husband] was rather put off by the way the Saudi men just reached in both hands and ate directly from the pot.

Ah..ah…no lefties in the pot…that’s the toilet paper hand . I think it must be some sort of cruel cosmic joke to be born a lefty in the land of time before eating utensils.
Interesting thread here… from what I gather , the one thing Saudi Arabia needs most is an all night liquor store and maybe a Bunny Ranch or two…sheesh…no wonder those freaktoid Muslims are so anal and aggressively uptight…I’d behead a sumbitch’ too, if I hadn’t a dink and a roll in the hay since birth….thanks Mag and all the other commenters for the travel tips of where not to go on my next vacation.

flash
flash

oops..anon was I

IndenturedServant

Anon, otherwise known as flash said:
“from what I gather , the one thing Saudi Arabia needs most is an all night liquor store and maybe a Bunny Ranch or two”

I forget where I read it but after we had been in Afghanistan for sometime, American doctors including female doctors started treating locals in the mountainous regions of Afghanistan and Pakistan. The story related how Muslim men were bringing their wives in to find out why there not getting pregnant. It seems that the women were physically capable of getting pregnant. In talking with the women they finally realized that their husbands were having anal intercourse with them. Thee are currently 1.6 billion muslims in the world.

Can you imagine how dumb everyone will be when there are 1.6 billion ‘murikans in the world? It boggles the mind!

Maggie
Maggie

@ flash… you are probably right, pun intended. Nick would NEVER have touched it had they reached in with their left hand. I am not sure that the elite aircrew of the Royal Saudi Air Force (now THERE is an oxymoron) wipe with their hands, having fancy bidets available to them in their homes (my husband assured me of that, as well as soap and toilet paper!) but downtown, I can assure you that taking a wrong turn into the wrong alley would disgust even the most unhygienic person you might know here. I may have to go throw up just for letting my mind wander back to the time it happened to me on a trip without my loyal and wise sidekick, Debbie.

I was befriended by one of the officers that flew with my crew when I was there and invited to his house to meet his two wives. I declined, telling him it was not allowed (which was true, but you gotta know that if I’d wanted to go, the rules would NOT have stopped me.) I was a bit worried about what they might think of me… I’d been told that the reason so many of the men on the streets would try to touch us American gals was that they believed we were all whores.

Concerning rules? The first trip I made to Iceland, I listened intently to the briefing about what streets to avoid in Reykavik, since the Soviet Embassy was there and all. I wrote them down to be sure. Of course, when Debbie and I rented a car, you know where we headed first, don’t you?

Maggie
Maggie

Of course, we could not read the street signs, but by asking a few locals, we managed to find our way. We’d learned to just not take blabbermouths along. Is how to stay out of trouble.

Maggie
Maggie

By the way, my last trip to the Kingdom during Desert Storm was as interesting as the first for many reasons. The first reason was that because I was needed to fly, replacing a sick ART, with a crew already in country, I was hurriedly loaded onto a bus full of marines and driven to Riyadh from Bahrain (sp?) rather than being billeted in Khobar towers (yes, those that were later attacked) with my primary crew. I got to see the entire Saudi desert from the rough viewpoint of a “then” jaded eye staring out at the Dunes and seeing the occasional campfire of the still roaming Bedouins in the Kingdom.

I’m looking forward to this movie, by the way. Thought the first attempt was piss poor.

Maggie
Maggie

Writing this article and discussing many of your comments with my husband and a few old AWACer buds still around and alive has led to the organization of a reunion of sorts with the crew dogs I most enjoyed flying around in circles for hours without seeming end and then drinking beer, swapping tall tales in bars from Puerto Rico to Iceland to Germany to Japan to lands I’m not supposed to talk about EVER.

I am thinking I shall record the event and document the stories that are sure to be shared, both old ones from days of yore and new ones from those who still fly the skies and touch the hand of Allah.

It just might be a good read. I’ll let you know.

MAP
MAP

Martha – Damn nice read! Just don’t go telling stories about the STAN/EVAL days…LOL!! Say Hello to Nick for me!

Ghost
Ghost

This is Mark Page, who taught me how to update and back up a database.

Doug Mace
Doug Mace

Wow! Talk about memories Martha. From one old ART to another, the story was great and reminded me of a few times Mark Chafe and I wandered around in Riyadh. Speaking of the food, I don’t think the Shish Ta Ook was as bad as the White Meat in Sauce. Never did know what the white meat was but remember the goat tied up to the swing set just outside the pool area once in a while? Funny how they always disappeared…

Ghost
Ghost

It was just the other day, Dougie Mace. I swear, it was just the other day.

Am a MeeMaw now and I have sidewalk chalk for ART class.

AWACSFE

Debbie … from Casa Grande, Arizona. She and Rodney Caldwell and I seemed end up in all the same crummy places together. Good times.

Kelly
Kelly

Hi Maggie, your post brought back so many memories. I was on AWACS as a RO from 1982 until the end of 1985. So, we probably overlapped but I don’t know if I remember you. I was in the 63rd. You? Do you still own your abayah? I was stupid and let mine go at some point.

Ghost
Ghost

Kelly, do you know Shirley Godsil? She lives an hour from me near St. Charles.

Kelly
Kelly

BTW. I was #1 female … not that it matters. But we early arrivers all know the craziness of being an early arriver.

Maggie
Maggie

Wow! Can’t throw a spitball without hitting AWACers all over! Hello, Doug, Kelly, MAP (never tell tales from those days and will tell Nick hello from you (he is working on the log home as we speak) and FE. Anyone have any good contact information for Debbie? Nick and I are retired in the Ozarks.

I think my abayah is in a box of “stuff.” Lots and lots of boxes of stuff to go through in the days, weeks, and months ahead.

Maggie
Maggie

Kelly… am sure you know Shirley G, whom is one of my bestest buds in the world. She was an early RO turned CSO.

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