The Day The Sky fell In

Over twenty years ago, in a city far away, people got out of bed to start their day. They did ordinary things such as shaving bits of the body that sprouted stubble overnight. Some don’t mind this growth, while for others it must be got rid of. Men shaved as well. Coffee was made, perhaps a breakfast of eggs and toast. Suits chosen, shirts and blouses ironed, kids sent off to school. Another ordinary day starting with a commute on public transport or battling the cars on the highway. Familiar sights and sounds greeted them, taken for granted. Police sirens, traffic noise and in the odd patch of quiet, sparrows chirping. Newspapers bought, cell phones ringing, coffee wafting down the street in the myriad throw away coffee cups bought at Starbuck’s or some other outlet promising to start your day with the proof that you are living the dream. So many people, so little connection, as offices get filled in yet another daily round of accounting, development, marketing, banking, planning, selling. 

The most challenging things faced were perhaps a deadline closing in, a difficult boss or colleague, a project losing its focus. Perhaps head office had sent another memo wanting information on some obscure issue by yesterday. For others the work is dull, easy and routine. Just another day. Just another dollar. 

Until the ear piercing scream of jet engines far far too close inserted itself into consciousness, then swiftly followed by white heat engulfing blackness. The kids will not be picked up, that memo will not be sent, the report will go unwritten. 

Ordinary people, ordinary lives. Extraordinary event. 

Whether you believe it was a conspiracy, or whether you believe it was an attack by Jihadi fanatics, matter not one jot. The effect was the same. 

The sky fell in and war was declared, not on a country (at first), nor upon a people but upon an ideology. Stupidity sided with mendacity and raw naked power, for it conflated a particular ideology with the lifestyle and belief of over 1.6 billion people. That is nearly 1 in 5 of us. It sought out an enemy, found one and then bombed the shit out of it. 

September 11th was a turning point in history. It reignited age old suspicions and poured napalm on to an already festering conflict. There was indeed an enemy wishing the destruction of Western globalised capitalism, but since that day millions have suffered because of the discriminate actions of powerful nations who could get popular support because in the end, we are woefully ignorant of people we don’t mix with, and who ‘dress funny’. 

As I sit in the office in Jeddah, I can see across the city to the Red Sea. My vantage point is four floors up providing me with a broad expanse to look down upon. The houses around me are only one or two stories high. There are clumps of high rise gleaming towers sparsely dotted around the skyline, but most of the city is street level for miles around. It is flat, very flat. Minarets point their fingers into the sky indicating where the numerous mosques are. Far away to the east, a line of blue hills in the haze rise up, otherwise this is a vast flat desert plain now built upon by one of the three largest cities in the country. 

In the afternoon, the blue ribbon of the Red Sea between the city and the sky, becomes a white wave, flecked topped flow, as the current and the wind picks up. Tankers queue up on the horizon. Many are on their way to the Suez Canal to feed our ravenous taste for oil. It is peaceful. At lunch time the nearby muezzin call the faithful to prayer, one of five a day. A colleague in the office takes his mat and goes through his prayers. 

You know of course that Saudi Arabia is a deeply religious country and that it was Saudis who flew the planes on that September day. You know that a Washington Post journalist was lured to the office in Istanbul and was killed by Saudi secret services. Perhaps you have heard that Saudi women are now allowed to drive! And, as Boris Johnson reminded us…Saudi women look like ‘letterboxes’. These things have truth to them, but they don’t tell the whole story. 

I have often thought that we like to generalise from the particular. I often do so deliberately for comic effect. In fact, stereotyping is useful because it allows us to make sense, quickly, of a complex world. And there is often a grain of truth in stereotypes. That’s why we like them and see them as funny as well as prejudicial. 

Racist stereotypes are the stock in trade, not just of some comedians, but of anyone travelling to foreign parts.  Mix race with religion and we have a very potent brew. 

”Muslims are terrorists’. 9/11 taught us that. Beards and backpacks are to be feared, and ideally shot on sight, even if you are from Brazil. 

The crazy, stupid thing is that Islam and Muslims are not one huge monolithic bloc who all think, act, or believe the same thing. They can’t agree on the dates for Eid nor what passes for morality. Some of us know there is the Sunni-Shia divide for example, but that’s about as far as our knowledge goes. I know sod all about it. My feeling is that it is one of of the three Abrahamic religions, which along with Judaism and Christianity, has created vast swathes of the modern world.

As an Atheist, I have little faith in their pronouncements or belief systems. Their sacred books to me are the scribblings of pre scientific poets, pedagogues, patriarchs, piss takers and psychopaths. The Bible, the Torah and the Qu’ran are as sensible as guides for life as a telephone directory is for navigation, only twice as dull. Ok, there are some good bits hidden in the bible, some would say Solomon’s Song is a bit rude, but the fixation with blood sacrifices, virgins and genocide is a bit far fetched.  Each of the big three is riven with internal contradictions, schisms and internecine strife. There is no such thing as a Muslim, or a Christian or a Jew. These are big words which, within the context of real life, are meaningless.  

But do all muslims want to kill me? If I listen to the British Press and the foamy flecked rantings of some American right wing nut job commentator, I might as well be walking down the street with a target on my chest. According to some surveys, nearly 40% of Conservative voters think Islam is a threat to the ‘British Way of life’, and within the Tory party itself, Islamophobia runs deep in its DNA. Don’t take my word for it, read what a Tory Peer thinks. Notwithstanding what a ‘British Way of Life’ actually is, this anti Muslim feeling is pure ignorance and prejudice stoked by years of front page rantings by the Sun, Mail and Express in particular. 

I confess that my lack of experience and lack of exposure to Islam, and more importantly to people who call themselves Muslim, leads me to feel uneasy and discomfited. It is natural when we become surrounded by things we don’t recognise.

As I take an evening stroll along the Red Sea, I am surrounded by families and couples. The majority of the men wear the long white gown called a thawb, and the traditional Saudi headdress, known as the ghutra. Some may think that it is worn to keep away the heat from the scorching desert sun, while others argue that it is an age-old tradition that is very popular among Saudis. One important component of wearing the ghutra is securing it on the head. It is often seen that even when a Saudi man walks fast his ghutra never falls off. It is the igal, the black rope-like cord, that holds the ghutra in place. Not many people are aware that the present day favourite in the Kingdom — the red and white-checkered ghutra — has its roots in far away Europe. It is believed that it was introduced in ancient Arabia, while others say it arrived in Saudi Arabia only a few decades ago.

Many, perhaps most, of the women are of course wearing the full black burqa. The term burqa is sometimes conflated with niqab. In more precise terms, niqab is a face veil that leaves the eyes uncovered, while a burqa covers the entire body from the top of the head to the ground, with only a mesh screen allowing the wearer to see in front of her. The burqa is also not to be confused with the hijab, a garment which covers the hair, neck and all or part of the chest, but not the face.

And boy have we got our knickers in a twist about all of it. For years women argued that they should be allowed to wear what they like. But not when it comes to the burqa. It is not strictly true of course, even in the liberal West. There are are times and places for getting your tits out in public. There are social strictures and consequences wherever you go in the world. Some are enforced by the police, others by shame and alcohol. In Jeddah, women can wear almost what they like, but just as you would at home, you choose more or less modesty depending on the context, your values and culture. A skimpy bikini is fine on a hot summer’s beach, but not for evening cocktails in the bar at the Carbis Bay Hotel. Your team’s football shirt is fine fixing the car or at the match, but you would would be foolish to wear it in more formal situations. 

Superfically, the Saudis are different. Their clothes say so. However, in just one conversation in the office overlooking the Red Sea, my colleague and I quickly agree that the most important thing we all want, is to be born, grow, live, work and age in peace. Food, Family and Friends are what matter. There are always a few psychopaths willing to kill for their version, but they can be found in all religions and in none. 

Over twenty tears ago, in a city far away, the day started with a call to prayer. The song wafted over the rooftops mesmerising in its ritual. Strong sweet coffee was being brewed and breakfast of flat bread, eggs, falafel and hummus shared around the family table. Children prepared for school, women put on their make up, taxi drivers nearly killed each other and other drivers during the morning commute. Thawbs chosen, shirts and blouses ironed, burqas cleaned, kids sent off to school. Another ordinary day starting with a commute battling the cars on the highway. Familiar sights and sounds greeted them, taken for granted, the squawks of the myna birds and calls of the swifts. Dogs roamed the streets looking for tit bits and skinny cats sat in any shade they could find. 

The most challenging things faced were perhaps a deadline closing in, a difficult boss or colleague, a project losing its focus. Perhaps head office had sent another memo wanting information on some obscure issue by yesterday. For others the work is dull, easy and routine. Just another day. Just another Dinar. 

Until the ear piercing scream of a cruise missile far far too close inserted itself into consciousness, then swiftly followed by white heat engulfing blackness. The kids will not be picked up, that memo will not be sent, the report will go unwritten. 

Ordinary people, ordinary lives. Extraordinary event.