Читать книгу Behind Palace Walls - Cay Garcia - Страница 16

MONA IS instructed by my princess to take me shopping for a new cell phone and a laptop – at my own expense. I have not received my iqama yet so I have to buy what I need on Mona’s iqama.

On our way to work, we stop at a popular book store where you can buy pretty much anything electronic. The sales men standing around talking to one another behind the counter ignore me. I am the only person at the counter, but I am evidently invisible. I don’t interrupt them. I notice a young man, no older than 18, with a store badge pinned to his shirt, standing alone to the side. I ask for his help. He looks around in a panic.

He is a trainee so he calls a colleague for help – one of the men behind the counter. He walks over to us, scowling, highly irritated at being disturbed, especially to assist a woman. He is abrupt and refuses to make eye contact. I will be spending thousands of riyals but that seems irrelevant.

I am still bristling at the way women are treated – I haven’t been here long enough to have become accustomed to it. Note to self: rein that in!

We are third in our queue when the second call for prayer comes. The cashiers drop everything and walk away. For the love of God! This means a 30-minute wait until prayer time is over. I don’t know whether I can bear to stand in one spot for half an hour but I have no choice. I wait.

Once back at the compound, I call home on my new mobile phone. Though I’m overjoyed to hear the voices of loved ones, the conversation is cryptic. Mona has warned me that our conversations, emails and text messages could be intercepted by the palace.

Contact with home takes on particular significance because I am in a potentially dangerous situation, so far away. It is comforting to know that I can speak to my loved ones within seconds. What did expats do in the past? Send smoke signals?