In the street, a group of scruffy teenage boys were setting up an impromptu football game. Discarded T-shirts were placed to mark the goals, and after a certain amount of bickering they divided into teams. Olivia sat down on a low wall to watch the game. She was no expert, but even she could see that some of the boys were pretty good.
A few yards away, one of the guards stood, impassively keeping watch over her. The other was, she presumed, still in the mosque with Khaled. This was what it must be like for him all the time. Watched, protected, accompanied. He couldn’t stroll down to the souk alone, nor even go in to pray.
“I’m sorry I was so long.” Khaled’s shadow fell over her and she got to her feet.
“You weren’t.”
“You found some entertainment, I see.”
“Boys and football. Some things are the same wherever you go in the world.”
He laughed. “Indeed. And some things are very different.”
She wanted to ask him about his faith, but feared it might seem like prying into something too personal. In Scotland, she had never considered what it meant to Khaled to be a Muslim, to be the ruler of a Muslim nation. Here, Islam was real and immediate. The public call to prayer of the muezzin punctuated the day, and there were signs everywhere of the practice of their religion. The women had their heads covered with neat scarves, and they wore long dresses or the practical tunic and leggings of the shalwar kameez, keeping them modest. Some things were very different, indeed.
“Here.” They turned a corner and suddenly the street opened into a wide square, filled with noise and color and people. This was a different side of Saqat from the calm tranquillity of the mosque, but she found it as appealing.
“What a wonderful place to spend an afternoon.”
“I didn’t have you down as the sort of woman who lists shopping as one of her hobbies,” he said teasingly.
“I don’t. But this is different.”
“Come on then. We only have an hour. No more.”
An hour wasn’t nearly enough to spend wandering from stall to stall, examining all the goods and chatting to the traders. Olivia was enchanted by it all. The fragrances of incense and spices, heavy in the warm air, the sounds of an unfamiliar language in quiet conversation and occasional loud shouts. The shapes of the buildings, the colors of the fabrics, the noise and bustle of men haggling pleasurably for hours over the price of a pile of goat hides. Everything was different, and yet, the closer she looked, the more she realized it was not so different after all. Children played in the streets here just like they did in Aberdeen, ignoring their mothers’ shouts when it was time for them to go home. Women stood in groups, chatting and gossiping while they did their shopping, like women all over the world.
She was frustrated by her lack of Arabic. A few of the traders and several children spoke some English, but otherwise she had to rely on Khaled to translate for her. She wanted to be able to talk to people, to find out what they wanted. Would the Saqati people welcome the news of oil in their waters? Would they care, like Khaled, about the precious marine life it would put at risk? Or would they only think of the wealth it could bring? She wanted to understand their ambitions, their hopes and dreams. How would the arrival of MCI Oil upset their way of life? How could they make sure it was a good thing for these people and for their children and grandchildren?
She made a few purchases, taking care to buy things from a number of different stalls at Khaled’s suggestion. She didn’t know if it was because she was a wealthy foreigner, or if it was because of the sheikh’s presence, but everywhere she went, she was treated as an honored guest. She tried on strings of beads, laughing at the stallholder’s exuberant suggestions as more and more were thrown around her neck. Khaled was no help, merely grinning at her and shrugging. Yards and yards of brightly colored woven cottons and silks were irresistible. She pulled out the fabrics from the roll and draped them around herself. At each stall she chose something to buy, as a way to repay the friendliness with which everyone treated her. At a table full of carved wooden treasures, she enlisted Khaled’s services to help her select a pipe that she hoped her father would appreciate.
“This one, do you think?” She held up a cedar wood pipe, with a delicate tracing around the rim.
“I didn’t know your father smoked a pipe.”
“He doesn’t, much, but he has a small collection. I’d like to take him something from Saqat.”
“This is more traditional.” He pointed out a darker pipe, with a strong geometric carved design.
“Traditional is good.” She picked up the pipe and asked him to find out how much it was.
“Should I haggle?” she asked Khaled when he relayed the price to her.
He laughed. “You should have been haggling everywhere. They are all making bets on how much they can get away with charging you.”
“And you let me!”
He took the pipe from her. “It’s fine. I would have stopped you if the prices became too outrageous. Shall I haggle for you on this?”