For some reason, I always expect the places and people that I haven’t seen in a while to have changed in some way that I can see, or in ways that are tactile and tangible. When I go home to the states, I’m somehow always surprised that the grass is green and my parent’s house looks the same, give or take a few seasonal decorations. I’m sure a few people that I know have caught me staring at their faces wondering what, if anything, is different about them. The only thing that truly changes is the height and vocabulary of my niece and nephews. I suppose I feel this way because I always sense that I am missing so many important moments. These feelings are the subject of an article I read the other day by Julia Kristeva called “The Foreigner”. She refers to non-nationals, such as myself, as deriving “masochistic pleasure” from experiences outside our homeland. The idea that one can love and relish being in a new place and learning the culture, while at the same time experiencing the longing and melancholy of being away from those that we love.

I arrived back in Riyadh at the beginning of September, after a wonderful summer break, and was mysteriously alarmed that the desert still reigns supreme. I was surprised that the traffic was still as horrendous as when I left, and that my villa has all of the same pictures on the walls and pillows on the couch. To be honest, every time this happens I ask myself, “What was I expecting, exactly?”. But the answer is always the same.

Riyadh is very hot this time of year. I have never been here in September, as I took this job in October of 2010, and last year we were traveling throughout the month. Now, more than ever, I’m thankful for that trip because this heat is brutal! Not to mention the fact that the country’s choice of attire for me isn’t exactly “breathable material”. Nevertheless, there were definitely a few friendly faces and smiling persons that I was thrilled to see. How grateful am I that there are persons whom I look forward to seeing wherever I am? Very.

I think it’s important to recognize that although places can be so different from the norm that we know, they can still have a quality that you miss when it’s absent. When I took this job, a very good family friend, whom I have known my entire life, said to me, “Accept it for what it is and do not try to fight it, or you’ll miss out on the experience and you won’t get anything from it: adapt to it, don’t make it adapt to you”. The pace of life in Riyadh has a relaxing tone. I’ve written before about the sedentary lifestyle that I have historically struggled with, but I have come to appreciate and even look forward to those days when there is literally nothing to do but sit down for a while and just be. My student has decided that I have become “a little Saudi.” When I first arrived, I was a beehive of activity from start to finish (as much as I could be anyway). She would tell me, “Slow down, it will all get done and it will get done on time. You’re too busy, just be in the moment.” I would tell her that the moment for me means not to let it go by unfilled. Now, after nearly two years, sometimes I catch myself telling her to not stress and to give herself a minute to recoup. Maybe she is right about me. Maybe I am becoming “a little Saudi.”

In Islamic culture, there are not many holidays that are cause for complete celebration and rejoice, as we know it in the states. Ramadan, the main holiday of the year, is more a time of reflection and prayer than it is for dancing, chanting, decorating, and singing. Some of the traditional holidays that we celebrate in the U.S., such as New Years and Halloween, are borrowed for carnival here. These holidays are not a part of Islamic culture, although from what I gather, they are used as mostly just a reason for the young people to get together with friends and say that it’s for a “cause.” However today, September 23rd, is National Day in Saudi Arabia, the basic equivalent of July 4th in the U.S.

For most countries, the battle for independence is deep rooted in faith and a sense of freedom…freedom from control or freedom from disorder. Abdul Aziz Bin Saud founded Saudi Arabia, although his battle for this kingdom began long before its sovereignty. Before his conquests, Arabia was a “patchwork of tribal rulers”. He fought each one, beginning in 1902, and finally reached his goal of a united, monarchal kingdom on this day in 1932. The Saud family still reigns today.

Aside from the historical significance of this holiday, as I mentioned, it is cause for celebration. I should preface this by saying that I did not attend this year’s outdoor festivities. Despite feeling safe in Saudi, given the nature of what’s happening in other parts of the Middle East right now, I felt it best to skip this event and admire it from the rooftop of my villa, and then learn about it from the mouths of a few friends who have been in country for a while. If I tried to attend, I thought I might combust from hyper-vigilance in a group of so many. That being said, the streets are lined with throngs of people tonight. They are painted bright green from face to foot. Their kids bear the colors of the Saudi flag (mostly green, with a little white). Their cars are also painted with a washable material that turns them to the color of Islamic and territorial unification, not to mention the green wigs atop the heads of more than a few people. They park in the middle of every street, get out of the cars, dance, and yell on behalf of Saudi Arabia. The roads are undeniably packed and at its mecca (pun intended) is a sense of pride for their country. The same pride, I’d imagine, that I feel when my country of origin celebrates its individualism and independence.

I am a daydreamer. Often times, you can find me walking ostensibly aimless around town with an elusive look on my face. I love being a dreamer, however occasionally my casual musings about winning the lottery and traveling the world are cut short by the ever-abrupt “cat-call” out the window of a passing car. What’s the deal with this sort of thing? What do men really think is going to happen when they yell “hey baby” from the driver seat of their Toyota Corolla (or Cadillac Escalade for that matter)? Is there really an expectation that you might land yourself a date, or get laid; by announcing on the go that you think she has a nice derriere? Do you think that licking lips through the glass while going 70 on the turnpike is going to make me want to pull off at the next road stop and make out with you?

I can’t help but wonder what would happen if the roles reversed. How would things be different if women were the ones yelling from the stereotypical construction site? Would hearing, “Hey handsome, nice package!” or “Look at the luscious bulge on that guy!” be enough to make men feel uncomfortable? The idea that men may finally understand what it feels like to walk away knowing that the person behind you is likely checking out your ass or mentally tossing around the different types of underwear that you may be wearing, is enough to make me want to test the theory. After doing some research on the subject, I came across a few interesting ideologies from both men and women.

My friend, Jeff, explained it to me by relating the issue to a dog that begs. He said that when a dog begs, they aren’t thinking that they are absolutely going to get a little trinket from the table; rather they are thinking most likely they walk away with nothing. It’s the one in a million chance that something will fall from the counter that makes it all worth it. If that’s the case, then what kind of women do you think fall into the slim category of those that might positively react to being looked up and down on the corner of 15th and Walnut Street in Center City. In my house, slabs of delicious steak do not fall from the table; it’s the slim pickings that land on the floor (and coincidentally, the pieces that the dog gets). Is this directly proportional to the class of women that respond to the blatant anonymous calls of attraction?

Since the caveman era, men have always played a dominant role in society. Today, those roles are as muddled and overlapping as they have ever been, has cat-calling simply not caught up to the rising level of ascendancy that women have this day in age? Is it a dominance or territorial thing? I’ve noticed that men do not extend this obvious token of fondness, when a woman is walking with another man. This leads me to believe that men think that a woman, who is walking alone or with female friends, is vulnerable and so the attempt is made for her to fall into his web of conspicuousness. Is that the philosophy behind this male particularized personality trait? A woman alone is susceptible and therefore the opportunity is taken to attempt to land some sort of brief affection. Is it a flex of the dominant masculinity? Interestingly enough, several of my female friends think that is the reason for the needless shouts of expression from men.

In his song entitled, “Why Can’t a Man Stand Alone”, Elvis Costello appropriately sang, “Why can’t a woman just be as she seems? Must men, who can only be men in their dreams, tarnish her? When beauty meets ignorance, they shout in the street, repeating their offer to each girl they meet”. Costello may have been on to something when he talked about the repetitiveness of being shouted at on the street. This alludes to the idea that at one point catcalling may have been an affective way of scoring some digits, but through time has lost its value due to overabundance.

I have had a few guys suggest to me that “women really like it”. The idea (on their part) is that women enjoy it because there is a certain level of comfort in knowing that you’re still desired, wanted, and considered sexy. While I have definitely thrown a little extra swagger in my step when I’m feeling bit saucy, being gawked at from passersby is not exactly something that sends my confidence through the roof; and to be totally honest, most the time when I smile back I’m thinking “you can’t seriously think that it’s flattering for me to know that you and your buddy are talking about my legs right now.” Granted, it’s nice to know that you think I have nice legs, but don’t act like telling me that is going to get you anywhere special. The other reason for my smile is because I realize that it takes a fairly confident guy to just toss himself out there like that; a trait that when standing alone is very attractive. However, catcalling is not exactly a good way to exercise that appealing mannerism.

Personally, I think that guys would love it if women suddenly decided to start shouting from the balconies or leaning out their windows to let men know that they have great pecks and a cute rump. I also think that they’d be very confused for a little while, because typically women do not operate like that; and I’m guessing that there probably won’t be a shift anytime soon. It’s safe to say, that there will be no changes in the system after this article. I just have the hope that one guy will “zip the lip” the next time he sees a woman walking alone down the street. She’s probably daydreaming and doesn’t want to be disturbed by some guy who is moving in congruence with the speed of traffic.