Under the Arabian Moon

Under the Arabian Moon
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Life had become an unending row. Words hurt. She had sensed a turmoil in Waleed's life but couldn’t really pinpoint the cause. His demons were hiding in the shadows. She wondered why Waleed was taking out his frustrations on her. Proximity for one; and he knew that she was not going to fight back. Helplessly, she watched his metamorphosis. Gradually , he had stopped thinking for himself and was looking to be led. Weakness spawned arrogance and the wildfire of anger choked rational behavior.

At first she was genuinely happy when for the first time in his life, Waleed had begun to find meaning in religion. Then she watched in quiet horror as he started applying it ,literally. Thought stopped abruptly in its tracks and retreated back through the doorway. Outside , there was bright sunlight and she felt a desparate need to get away.

She called Jezail and they decided to meet for an early lunch in one of the seaside restaurants in downtown Kuwait City . It was a bright and glorious spring weekend and a crime to stay indoors. Sunlight was a balm for bruised minds.

Layla cruised down the Arabian Gulf Road in her new Jaguar. She picked up speed going past Ras Salmia towards Kuwait city. The azure blue of the Arabian Gulf lay to her right , glistening as a million saphires .Carefully manicured greenery along the highway and flowers in a blaze of spring color made one forget that one was in a harsh desert land. This was another one of life's illusions. She switched to the right lane , slowed down and called Jezail on the mobile phone.

"Hi Jez, keifak, how are you this beautiful Thursday morning?" she smiled into the mobile's external speaker.

"Hamdulilla , I always feel better on the weekend," Jezail replied. "I've just got into Expressway 55. Should hit the gulf in another fifteen minutes." The weekend traffic on the expressway was heavy , everyone was out to have a good time.

"Where are we meeting for lunch then?" Layla inquired. "Somewhere on the gulf I hope."

"Steak at Applebees?" Jezail suggested. "Right on the sea."

"Lah! I'd rather avoid that today . How about some Lebanese , I love your food Jez."

"Right , how about Mais Al Ghanim ? We'll get to smoke Shisha there too."

"Done. See you there in ten minutes."

Layla loved driving down Gulf Road. The sea coast was full of activity. Families were out on the greenery with their barbeque sets. Young Kuwaiti boys , Shebabs , raced each other on jetskis. Some demonstrated their prowess by doing ski flips and splashing surf on to those enjoying the beach. Others were on their way out of the harbor on their yachts. A good days diving and fishing had to be enjoyed and the open sea was too inviting to be missed. Layla drove past Burger King , Pizza Hut, past Zorbas Greek Taverna , the Scientific Center ,Johnny Carino's, Mac Donald's , Fudrukker's and slowed down as she approached Friday's and Chili's. The gigantic blue double spheres of the Kuwait towers loomed ahead and she took a U turn into Mais Al Ghanim.

Layla loved the ambience. It was like no other restaurant in Kuwait. She always felt the tug of Arab traditions while sitting in the huge airconditioned tents of Mais AlGhanim. The restaurant was quite full and after a bit of pleading , the Lebanese waiter got her a corner table. Jezail would be in in a few more minutes so she asked the waiter for two hubly bublies or water pipes to smoke.

"Two Shishas , light tabac and apple flavor ok?" she ordered.

There were many Lebanese men and stylishly dressed women sitting smoking the Shisha through the long decorated pipes. Layla always found the Lebanese extremely good looking and attractive. She liked their easy manners and their hedonistic mediterranean lifestyle. They lived life big, with style and panache. To her they were normal. She yearned to be that , just normal.

Then there were tables with groups of Kuwaiti women hunched around gossiping. Most of them covered themselves in the abba, a head to toe silky black cloak worn over their normal Western clothing. Most of these tables did not have any men . But then this was life. She thought of Waleed , her husband , out fishing with his gang of male friends. He would return in the evening and head straight away into the Diwania for a social tete a tete. The social gatherings at diwanias were only for men and tradition kept them out of bounds for women. It was a great social honor to host a diwania. Honor , it seemed however, was not equally or normally distributed.

Jezail arrived with a flourish. She was dressed in grey Gai Mattiolo trousers and a white Liz Claiborne top. Her brown kohl lined eyes and radiant white chisseled Lebanese features were framed by an airbrushed mane of black hair, tinged with red henna.

"Layla Al Roumi , you look like a fresh sunflower," she exclaimed as she gave her a bright laugh. A black abba covered Layla's designer dress and the light brown skin of her face was bordered by the hijab , the traditional Islamic head scarf. She kissed Layla on both cheeks . The aroma of French perfume and Arabian attar mixed and expanded into the surroundings. Some of the Lebanese men cast surreptitious glaces from the corner of their eyes. Jezail really did create an impression.


They were both modern Arab women but different and the difference attracted and made them best of friends."Is that your new silver Jag outside?" Jezail asked in admiration.

"Yeah," Layla replied. "Waleed, I think, was wallowing in guilt and must have bought it in one of his drunken flights of fancy."

"You aren't being kind to him , are you?" Jezail asked. "Is he still drinking?"

The sparkle went out of Layla's eyes and she quietly nodded. "He goes to the Diwania after work and plays backgammon and dominoes with his friends . Networking he calls it. Can't get booze there so it's cups and cups of strong Turkish coffee."

"Thats not so bad , that’s tradition," Jezail offered. "Do you know of any Kuwaiti man who doesn’t go to Diwanias?"

"It's what he does after coming home that bothers me," Layla moved her feet away as the waiter prepared the water pipe on the floor between the two women. "He's built a fancy bar at home, ostensibly for entertaining friends , a status symbol for him."

"So? " Jezail asked while she simultaneously surveyed the menu.

"He drinks alone and gets drunk," Layla replied. I don’t know whether it has anything to do with his work , he won't tell me anything. I tried to reason with him and it didn’t work . I tried religion and it hasn’t worked. Islam forbids drinking and anything that fogs the mind. You know that."

The waiter lit the Shisha and handed the long pipe to Jezail. Smoke bubbled through the water as Jezail inhaled deeply. She looked at Layla through shisha smoke and apple-tobacco aroma.

"I know and then, I don’t know. Not all Muslims follow the Sharia and are fundamentalist. We drink openly in Lebanon."

"Yes you do and I love your wine," Layla grinned and agreed. "Here though, it’s a state religion and drinking is forbidden. Its illegal."

Jezail was Lebanese , this was a Lebanese restaurant and so Layla kept her Kuwaiti taste to herself and let Jezail do the ordering.

Jezail handed over the shisha pipe to Layla . "Therein lies the problem. Remember what happened in the States during prohibition. Have you read about the hooch deaths in the states in India where prohibition is enforced?"

Layla inhaled."It was openly available here too till the late sixties and there were no problems."

"I picked up a magazine at the Fanar plaza and they had done a survey on divorce."

"And?"

"The single most important cause is alchoholism. Forty percent of them , I think they said. And a very large number of students are on drugs. Nobody talks about it , but this mag was quite blaze about it."

They were served with Lebanese mezza , appetizers of anchovies, asparagus tips , pickled vegetables and tabboule salad. A plate of hommos arrived; a spicy paste of chick peas and tehina. Then, a plate of grape vine leaves stuffed with rice and minced meat was served cold together with Lebanese Kibbae , minced meat in fried wholewheat dumplings.

"You know Jez," Layla pondered, "we could sit and discuss statistics till the cows come home , but I don’t know what to do when I see Waleed disintegrate in front of my eyes. Its something else and I don’t know what it is. Started drinking as an escape and now its got him."

"I didn’t know it was that bad, Jezail said and trailed off. A little bit of social drinking , within limits I thought."

"He has some kind of tention within him," Layla explained."But when he starts drinking alone , he is not Waleed any more."

"Has he ever been taken over with violent rage?" Jezial asked.

"No," Layla replied biting her lips." Waleed can get really angry, I mean , sometimes arrogantly so , but that’s all."

The main course arrived. Spicy chunks of charcoal grilled lamb kebabs, chicken shish taouk , spicy roast chicken served with rice mixed with nuts, chicken liver and giblets. Fresh from the clay oven and golden brown.

"How's your geology project going at the university?" Jezail changed the topic.

Layla's eyes lit up. She rolled back the black hijab scarf over her head and launched into her favourite subject."I am now the project leader," she proudly announced. "Kuwait Oil want to sponsor the project."

"I'm going off this next week to the Northern oilfields on a site visit. We are going to conduct some shelf tests to the East of those oil fields. There's probably more gas out there than people realize."

"Have the oil fires there been put out?" Jezail asked.

"There have been no fires there since the Iraqi's went wild. The recent fire was close to Ahmadi and that was put out too. Theres always that risk and danger. I can take that."

"What an adventure it must be for you."

"Adventure?" Layla screwed up her face and laughed . "Do you know what it really is? Its discomfort recollected in tranquility. Doesn’t feel like an adventure when you are on the site. Give me Indiana Jones anyday."

"The kebabs are truly heavenly," Jezail said eating with relish . She drank some mint and sweetlime juice. "Do you want to teach or join an oil company?"

"They are regressing," Layla sighed and continued to eat.

"What do you mean, regressing, who ,what?" Jezial did not understand.

"At the univ I mean," Layla explained."They are taking seggregation very seriously. Separate classes for men and women. This is the twenty first century, hello?"

"That’s been a tradition too , isn't it?" Jezail asked. At least your's is one country in the region which has a democracy."

"Where women can't vote. Give me a break."

"But the Amir has decreed that women be allowed to vote. He is quite a visionary , isnt he?" Jezail queried.

"Yeah he has and yes , he's quite a guy, but the motion was lost in parliament. We keep losing despite his decree and what does that mean?"

"What?"

"Since there are only men in parliament , the liberal reformists seem to be powerless against the fundamentalists.There has to be a wide sweep."

"You mean women in the seat of power?"

"Yes ,absolutely. That'll stop us going backwards despite the enormous oil wealth ," Layla said passionately.

"Don’t you think women have the freedom to do anything , be anything here? I don’t have a problem," Jezail relaxed into the Arabic cushion and took another smoke from the shisha.

"You're Arab but an expat. You don’t have to face our pressures.You won't understand. It's okay if we accept the world as it is. Is it still possible? I mean , here I am, leading a research project which will add to the gross domestic product of the country. I can own property, I can run a business but, God forbid ,if I have to go to court to settle a personal dispute and testify under oath, the testamentary value of another male witness is double that of mine."

They finished their meal in silence." Coffee or dessert ? " Jezail asked with a smile.

"Coffee. Turkish and black. And don’t mind my outbursts."

"So it shall be."

"I can accept things as they are. But then , what is the value of my education, my contribution to society? I look at you and .."

"And ?" Jezail looked at her impishly.

"I feel that tinge of envy. Really. You're an Arab, the same as I am . You're Muslim. You’ve got freedom," Layla trailed off.

"You have the wealth and anything money can buy. The State gives you interest free housing loans. A quarter million dollars to every every citizen, heaven be praised! Where in the world would you get these priviledges? Your kids have the best of education and entertainment. You can do anything you want. And you do. You have the highest percapita spending on cosmetics in the world.Look around you , everyone's a blonde unless you peep deep down. You know where.It's true," Jezail laughed out aloud."Another of life's illusions.You are equal in every respect."

"So equal that I keep showering Waleed with gifts so that he doesn’t take a second wife," Layla joined in the laughter.

Turkish coffee was poured out from the Ibrik a special copper pot , into small ornate cups. This coffee was not to be gulped down like instant coffee , but savoured, drunk in celebratory style without haste and always with great elan.

Jezail laughed , "coffee should be black as hell, strong as death and sweet as love."

Layla joined in the laughter and they continued their chat well into late afternoon. The tent was filled with shisha aroma and smoke and the tables were emtying out. They agreed to meet the next afternoon.

"Your place or mine?" Layla asked.

"If I am coming all the way to Mishref, lets meet at Starbucks ?"

"Sure," Layla saw Jezail into her BMW convertible and waved goodbye. Then she revved up her Jaguar and drove into Gulf Road. She took the Dasman exist past the tall glass, metal and concrete skyscrapers of the central business district and drove into the Fahaheel Expressway. She hit the accelerator at 120 kmph as soon as she crossed Shaab and zoomed towards Mishref , and the villa where she and Waleed lived.

Waleed returned home soon afterwards. Layla noticed that yachting had lifted his spirits and revealed some of the old Waleed that she felt was gone. But it was already evening and that was a time that men spent time with other men.

Waleed came out of the shower and put on his Arabic dress, the dishdasha, a floor length flowing white robe . He stood in front of the mirror and scowled at himself. Then he went through the ritual of wearing his head dress. First he put on the gahfiya , a close fitting scull cap. Then he took the gutra , a square piece of cloth and folded it into a triangle. He put this centrally on his head till it hung down equally over his shoulders. Then firmly on his head , he placed the ogal , a double circlet of twisted black cord to keep the entire head dress in place.

In the mirror he saw Layla walk into the room. "I'm going to the Diwania," he announced to her as he stylishly flipped the corners of the gutra over his shoulders, "and won't be having dinner. Are you going to be home this evening?"

Layla nodded. It was the same routine every evening and she had given up on the togetherness angle long ago. She would have gladly had a child with him. His family wanted a male child to be produced forthwith. At first she had held back because of the oil project. Now she was afraid. A child would only complicate a complex situation further. She wasn’t sure where Waleed was heading.

"There are some important religious leaders coming to the diwania today. Some foreigners too. I'll be late so don’t wait for me." Waleed put on some attar, a strong Arabic perfume and drove off in his Mercedes. There was no warmth in his voice , only cold disdain. All that remained was a whiff of attar and what could have been.

Layla asked the live-in Philipino maid to prepare dinner. She prepared a warm bath with aromatic fruit salts and gently lowered herself into the water. She felt her skin tingle as she luxuriated in the bath while the water jets gave her a soft massage. She had grown to like being alone , with her books and music and that small vice of hers, films . She was an inveterate movie buff devouring all the English language and Indian films she could find on DVD and all that the satellite channels dished out.

She had begun to perceive the silver screen as more real than the make belief world around her. Like time, illusion was also relative. Her eyes closed as steam filled the room and her mind took a dive into the depths of her being and beyond. Even the mirror, opaque with steam and water vapour , refused to to throw back an image of the surrounding reality. She felt completely free, an hour of complete peace.

After dinner she retired to the TV room and switched on the Movie channel. They were showing Autumn in New York. She imagined Richard Gere in an Arabic dishdasha and Winona Ryder in a black abba and hijab scarf, walking hand in hand through autumn leaves in Central park. And then , she became one with them. She danced with them, cried with them and when death came, she flew away with the birds over Manhattan.

She had dozed off and didn’t hear Waleed come in.

"Switch off the goddamn TV and come to bed," he screamed. "I've got to talk to you."

Autumn leaves and Central park vanished and she jerked awake in Mishref, Kuwait. She came into the bedroom and Waleed was waiting with a tall glass of whiskey in his hand. His voice was slurred and he was drunk as usual.

"I've committed to donating twenty five thousand dinars to charity and the Islamic brotherhood, Waleed announced."

"That’s more than seventy five thousand dollars," Layla was suddenly wide awake. "Do you have so much cash with you."

"With you dear. You will sign a cheque tomorrow on your account."

"I will definitely not."

"Yes you will. I'll expect it by seven thirty in the morning. And one more thing, the brotherhood expects my wife to wear the burqa and you will start wearing the veil."

"Waleed you're drunk, go to sleep before the neighbors call the police."

"I repeat," Waleed slurred, "you will wear the burqa."

"I am not an illiterate Bedouine tribal woman. You can have my money but you will not have my life, you hear me?"

Waleed was already fast asleep , snoring and reeking of whiskey. At that moment he had neither sense nor sensibility. Layla cried herself to sleep hoping that in her dreams she would stop being chased by nightmares.

She woke up slowly , rubbed her eyes and stretched herself. The morning sunlight danced with the white lace curtains on the French window. It was another beautiful Friday morning. Waleed had gone to the mosque for the weekend Friday prayers and would probably go to a meeting of religious clerics afterwards.

"With my money!" she loudly addressed the mirror while looking at her reflection.
"The weekend flashes by so fast," she said to herself. She made a mental note of the things to be done. She planned on a bit of spring cleaning. She eagerly looked forward to her coffee meeting with Jezail at the Mishref Starbucks.

They had planned to meet at one thirty but she arrived fifteen minutes early. She went to the ATM machine ,inserted her card and checked the balance in her account. Yes , she did have the cash to finance Waleed's so called charitable activities. All she wanted in return from him was to be left alone.

Jezail waved to her as she drove in and then she quickly came up the steps and they embraced and kissed on both cheeks.
"Have you been waiting long?" Jezail asked looking at her watch with both eyebrows raised .

"Aiwa! Waiting hours for the queen to arrive," Layla clowned and screwed up her face.

They found themselves a nice corner and settled down. A Café Late for me , Layla shouted at Jezail who had gone over to the counter to order their coffee. A Frap for me and a Café Late with a bit of cinamon, ok? "
The Filipino counter staff took down her order and asked her to wait three and a half minutes.

Back at the table, Jezail found Layla nervously twitching her hijab head scarf. "Whats up ? Come on , out with it ."

"Waleed wants me to wear the burqa ," Layla announced with indignation.

"You wearing the burqa? Has he gone completely mad ?" Jezail rolled up her eyes and exclaimed.

"It's not him. I think he is receiving some kind of religious instruction from some people he's been meeting. He's giving them twenty five thousand dinars of my money too," she clenched her fist as she tried to control the anger that she felt.

There was silence at the table, while each contemplated the implications of what Layla had just said.

"That’s more than seventy five thousand US Dollars," Jezail calculated.

"Aiwa! Layla nodded her head. Not one or two thousand . This is not charity, it is madness."

"Unless there is a method in the madness," Jezail lit a cigarette. I've heard that the money is going out of the country to support the brotherhood. Is Waleed under the influence of the clerics?"

"I think so. He was mouthing bad words at the liberals in parliament. He's been having these wild mood swings." Layla sipped her coffee. "Look he can have his views , but not at my expense."

"Why don’t you ask him what the money is being used for? You have every right to ask, its your money."

"He'll fudge, but perhaps worth a try. But money can go to hell , I am not wearing the burqa," the anger returned.

"Why don’t you wear the burqa in bed and give him a shock?" Jezail suggested with a wink.
"You devil, definitely worth a try."

Starbucks was filling up with young shebabs and families. Though there were no rules from the Starbucks management, seggregation was unconciously working its way around. It was perhaps a reflection of the way local society felt. Layla understood the blur at the edges of the morals of a conservative society under the onslaught of the media on the one hand and state religion on the other.

"We're all a bit confused," she confessed. People look at us and judge us by their realities, but our realities are as real as theirs."

"The problem is when you think that God has given you the order to protect his domain. That’s his God not mine."

"Touche!" Jezail finished her glass of frappucino.

Layla returned home with her head brimming with new ideas. She found Jezail a great bouncing board and loved her freshness and humor. Waleed wasn’t in as usual . Layla made herself comfortable with her ritual of the late evening movie. She was on a trip on the powerboat with Tom Cruise , when she heard Waleed's Mercedes drive in.

Waleed staggered into the room and mocked her , "burqa burqa wheresh the burqa?"

Anger returned . Tom Cruise had already dissappeared over the horizon. She knew that Waleed was deliberately provoking her and she desparately wanted to control herself.

"Come to bed," Waleed ordered."Be sweet to me."

"You're drunk and by the way,the shop is closed."

"Come ere you bitch," Waleed approached her aggresively and tried to grab her by her hair.

Layla deftly dodged him and took refuge behind the sofa. They stood on either side of the sofa staring at each other like wild animals. Waleed lunged at her as she danced away. An incensed Waleed grabbed their precious Swarovski crystals and threw them at Layla crouching at one corner. She ducked and the Swarovski crystals flew past and smashed on the wall behind her. Layla picked up some exquisite blue pottery and hurled it at Waleed. Wedgewood flew past Swarovski as Waleed and Layla ducked, swayed and clashed in a vicious dogfight.

Then Waleed hit her on her face and she was stunned. "You’ve never done that before? Ever!" Layla cried in disbelief. She hid her head in her hands and wailed .

Waleed staggered away and went out of the room, while Layla sat in shock. A few minutes later she heard Waleed pounding the door of the maid's room.

"This is the end," Layla thought to herself," the very end." She stood near the closed door of the maid's room and heard Waleed's drunken groans and the mild protests of the Philipino maid. Her head started spinning as the full impact of what was going on hit her in the guts. She went into the bedroom , locked the door and cried all night. This wasn’t the nightmare in one of her movies. This was as real a nightmare that she had never imagined, etched in her mind as surreal images,teardrops and spoiled makeup.

Next morning, she knew that Waleed wouldn’t be there. She slowly went downstairs to the dining room and sat down for breakfast. The maid brought her coffee and breakfast.

"He's left a letter for you madame," she said as she handed it over without meeting Laylas gaze. "He packed for a long journey and left at dawn."


Waleed had simply informed her that he would be gone indefinitely. He was going to Afghanistan to fight the holy war, jihad against the non believers. The religion had to be saved. Her money would be used wisely.

She didn’t sit and admire the full rays of the morning sun. She dressed herself , put on the abba and hijab over her clothes and walked straight out of the front door. Waleed's four wheel Pagero was parked with the keys in the ignition. Her mind was a blur of emotion as she took the Mishref exist into the Fahaheel express. She hit the pedal and immediately accelerated to a hundred and sixty kmph. She didn’t care about speed limits, she didn’t care about any rules anymore. In less than forty minutes she was in the desert. She got off the expressway , past the airconditioned tents and the satellite dishes and began driving down the desert tracks. The vast yellow desert extended as far as the eye could see. She had lost count of time. There were no more tents to be seen anymore, no more people, only the vast openness of the Arabian desert under an angry sun.

She stopped the Pagero and got out into the soft sand. She started walking into the expanse of the burning desert. This was not the playful sun peaking in through her french windows. She took off her hijab and tossed it in the air. She took of the abba and threw it as far away as she could. Then she started running. Off came the Versace shirt top . Gaultier trousers fell by her tracks on the sand. She threw the Gucci boots in an elliptical arch as far as she could and kept running barefoot on the sand. No, she would'nt have it any more. He or anyone else. It was all a sham . She took of her underclothing and tossed them away. Naked , she kept running into the mirage.

The yellow and orange giant desert chameleon stared at her retreating figure without blinking its eyes. It remained motionless , observing her as Layla disappeared behind the sand dunes. All that remained were her footprints on the sand and a trail of designer clothes. The chameleon clicked its tongue and very slowly, retreated back into it's refuge in a subterranean desert world . Once in the hollow recess of its dark kingdom, it effortlessly changed the color of it's skin to dirty green and brown, and shut out the sun.