Many of you know my parents are living in Saudi Arabia right now. We visited them over Christmas 2 years ago. When we arrived, unlike the usual hotels with mints on the pillow, we arrived chez Brown with a Christmas card on the pillow. The card was from Kabir, my parents' gardener. (more on that later) I had never met this sweet Bangladeshi when receiving the card, but he already fondly thought of me as his sister. This card was addressed to his sister...and I particularly loved the inside sentiments! (keep in mind, he speaks some English...enough to recognize the word sister on the front, but not enough to understand the rest of the card.) Anyone see any humor here?
Receiving a Christmas card does not sound too unusual until you realize that you are in Saudi, a place that bans Christmas. Where did he find the card? I propose that he found it in the same store as the fellow in the following story. (an excerpt from a book written by a Brit in Qatar~similar culture to Saudi)
Brian and Marie, two perennial friends of mine in London, have become parents for the first time and on hearing this I planned to send them a card of congratulations. Some hope....
...The only card shop is a tiny place the shape of a lighthouse. Due to its size, none of the cards are actually on display, but are packed neatly away in hundreds of cardboard boxes, none of which give any indication as to the precise nature of their contents. The majority of boxes are kept in a dingy attic immediately above the shop. Access to this is by way of a rusty metal ladder secured to the wall by a single screw and mounted at an angle which can range from 180 to 200 degrees depending on the prevailing climatic conditions. Judicious caution is advised when attempting to scale this menace, or you could end up in a place even higher than the attic. Fortunately, in deference to his customers, it's the practice of the shop's intrepid proprietor to risk his own life to decide which card you intend to buy.
As I entered the shop, he was sitting contentedly beside the door attempting to drink from a huge, metal cup of congealed tea. It looked disgusting. But no worse than his vermillion and bottle-green shirt.
'Hello,' he said. 'Take a seat, have a cup of tea.'
Remaining decisively anchored to the only chair in the shop, he then enquired,
'You like buy card?'
Suspecting he'd all but reached the limit of his English vocabulary, and with myself fluent in approximately one language, a potentially lengthy encounter seemed likely.
'Yes, I want card for new baby, please.'
'New baby. Yes. I go upstairs.'
Having furiously ransacked his desk for a torch, he mumbled a brief prayer before disappearing uncertainly up the ladder into the unlit attic, the torch gripped tightly between his teeth. Five seconds later there was a crash. The torch fell through the attic hatchway and bounced sedately back down the ladder, pursued closely by a set of false teeth.
For the next five minutes, the commotion emanating from above indicated a vigorous search was underway, and one the man was evidently getting his gums into. He then re-emerged, although in a dishevelled condition and with blood trickling from a small laceration which had mysteriously appeared on the bridge of his nose. Clutched in his hand was a card which looked attractive and well-printed. 'Good luck,' it read, 'in your new job.'
'No, no, no,' I said, 'this is no good. I want card for new baby.'
The proprietor stared blankly back at me.
'New baby,' he echoes, and then smiled broadly as he got the picture.
'Ah, baby. OK, wait.'
Retrieving his teeth from the floor, he rubbed them ferociously on his shirt sleeve before ramming them into his mouth. He then vanished once again up the mercurial ladder.
Minutes later he reappeared, preceded by a large shower of dust.
'Good?' he enquired hopefully, thrusting a card at me.
'Congratulations,' it read, 'on passing your driving test.'
'Driving test,' I said, 'why driving test? It's card for new baby I want. What's driving test got to do with it?'...
...The proprietor appeared suitably crestfallen and quickly shinned once more up the ladder to the attic where he made loud looking noises for the next five minutes. Returning breathlessly and with an air of triumph, he held out a card which I could immediately see had a picture of a baby on the front. Thank goodness for that, I thought.
'Congratulations,' the card read, 'on becoming a grandmother.'
A grandmother? By now I wished I'd never heard of Brian and Marie, let alone their new baby. In a world which has given us space travel, heart transplants and toothpaste with added fluoride, a simple greetings card eluded me.
'You're a total cretin,' I bawled, 'and I intend to kill you.'
Actually, what I really said was, 'I'm awfully sorry, but I need card for new baby. Not grandmother, or new job, or driving test - a new baby.'
The poor man looked back at me, obviously mystified all his efforts weren't being appreciated, and he began to look quite hurt. In desperation, I launched into a selection of gurgling noises to assist him, cradling my arms and rocking them back and forth as if holding a baby.
'Ah, new baby,' he said, as my exertions bore fruit and a sudden realisation loomed up on his face. Thank heavens he's got it at last, I thought, as the proprietor disappeared once again into the attic.
He soon returned beaming with anticipation. On his forehead were beads of perspiration which he wiped with an extravagant gesture on his shirt sleeve before offering me a card. And he'd finally got it right. There was a lovely picture of a cradle on the front.
'Congratulations,' it read, 'on having twins.'
I gave up. The man looked so pleased I hadn't the heart to disillusion him.
Within the next few days, Brian and Marie will receive a card of congratulations on the arrival of their twins called Rebecca. And that's the reason why, incidentally, don't be too surprised if I end up sending out Mother's Day cards this Christmas.
Anyone else find this hysterical? Maybe it was just because we visited Saudi and this is really how it is. At least, Kabir bears witness to that too...
