Holidays and a Train Trip

I’m typing this from 1st class on the train from Coo to Dammam care of Doo Railways. It’s the beginning of the second Eid holiday, a week-long break from work that is a celebration of all things about the Prophet Ibrahim’s experience of sacrificing his son Ishmael at Allah’s command (Allah prevented Ishmael from being killed by the knife due to the Prophet Ibrahim’s submission and faith). The first Eid holiday is during the week after Ramadan to celebrate the ending of the fasting period.

We’re particularly busy at work at the moment due to the JCI (Joint Commission International) review of the hospital in mid-December, so I’m going to go into work for 2 days next week to finish some overdue work. However, I decided to take the opportunity to escape from Coo for a few days rest and fun. I’m travelling with Glenda (my Canadian colleague), and Sarah (one of my two Australian housemates). We decided to splurge on 1st class tickets. It ended up being more of a splurge than we expected after our taxi driver who we’d employed to purchase our tickets dutifully dropped us at the train station in time for the 10am trip, and we discovered he’d been given tickets for the long-departed 7am trip. I tried to explain, discuss and demand replacement tickets for the 10am trip since the 7am train had in fact been full so the tickets would have been useless even then. I was even aided by our Arabic-speaking driver who explained and then promptly tried to pay the man, contrary to my case. Alas, it was to no avail and I paid for the second lot of tickets with a less than generous attitude.

So far, the journey has been fun. No view out the window other than sand and the odd pipe-line or electricity tower, but the lovely rhythmic sound of the train ride has been perpetually interrupted by screaming, crying or yelling children. Glenda turned around during one particularly loud moment to glare, and witnessed a young boy hanging from the overhead luggage rack like a monkey, one foot on each chair behind my head. Discipline of children here is either an unusual art in comparison to that which I’ve experienced or witnessed in Australasia, or at worst, non-existent. The only time I’ve seen a friend attempt to discipline her 5yo son was when he got tired of trying to get his mother’s attention during our language class by standing at her side say “Mama” over and over and over, so he climbed onto the lovely mantelpiece, walked along over the food and crystal displays and then jumped onto the dining table where we studying, standing over us with a completely innocent look. Even then, it was a barely perceptible frown. On a positive note, Doo mothers have a delightful way of calming their crying infants. They place them on their laps, head on one leg, rear-end on the other and rock them by gently swaying their hips. I’m yet to witness a child continue to scream after this nurturing act.