Picric is here finally and neither of us has stopped purring since. She got in at 11:15 the other night and I finally got home around 4:00 AM.I was up for 25 hours straight - a feat I have not performed for at least 5 years. The desert is in full bloom. grasses and flowers like these small yellow dandy-lion like blooms have taken over
everything. I'm alive and so is this place.
I've had a strange weekend. I'm almost reluctant to write about it. It's kind of heavy and might scare some people, but I think it's an important lesson. So if you're willing to stick with me for the whole thing, read on. If you're not, just know that everything is ok and everyone is healthy and happy and all's well.
First of all, please take all this as a total story from beginning to end. Try not to focus on the scarier parts of the story as I did at first. It can only distract from the larger lesson. This lesson was about fear. Ever read the Dune books? Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death. Man am I a nerd. I believe that we are all here to learn things. Some of us are simply a little more dense than others and therefore we (by we, I mean I) require slightly harder-hitting lessons. This is a good example.
The "security" at the facility I work on has recently been rearranged. I'll reserve my dissertation on why it's totally screwed up, but the summary effect is that the time it takes to get through the whole thing can take up to 2 hours if you are driving alone. Once a week, I am the only one that can reliably relieve the night shift, so I HAVE to commute with someone to ensure that I'm here in time to relieve them, as the HOV is far faster. So I was traveling down one of the main roads going to pick up my friend Brian. Brian is a big Southern boy, totally sweet and gentle, but an imposing figure none the less, being a big corn-fed son of a gun. I had called him to let him know I was on my way so he could be waiting outside for me. I leave for work at about 4:00 in the morning so it's still very dark and the streets are almost completely empty.
On my way, a vehicle came up behind me and started flashing it's lights. A young, well groomed man was gesturing wildly in a manner that would lead me to believe there was something wrong with my vehicle, so I started slowing down. I stopped in a well-lit area, locked my doors and rolled my window down about a half an inch. He had parked about 5 feet in front of me and got out of his car to tell me that there was something wrong with my rear right-hand tire. He tried to get me out of my car to show it to me and of course I refused. On the off-chance that he was just a nice guy trying to warn me I told him I'd be fine and that my friend was waiting not far away and I could make it there. He became more insistent. The Fortuner is brand new and was just in for a check up about 2-3 weeks ago. Brian was only about 5 blocks away, so I again told him I wouldn't get out of the car. He then went back to his car and started digging around for something, so I took off. I nearly hit him getting out from behind him and just gunned it.
He pulled up beside me again and tried to show me an ID card of some sort. I remembered stories of women being tricked into thinking predators are police men and being forced into cars a lot in Kuwait lately, so I made some rude gestures and gunned it again. He then peeled off away from me. It was then that I noticed his accomplice. He'd been alone in his car, but another large pickup was right behind me. It was so close I couldn't see his headlights, which isn't all that unusual here. But then he pulled up beside me and looked over at me before pulling behind me again and flashing his lights. I was pretty freaked out by this point. Then I saw Brian and knew I was saved. As the other driver saw him, he knew the same and pulled away as well. I stopped, unlocked the door and asked Brian to check my rear right tire. I didn't do it myself frankly because I couldn't pry my hands from the steering wheel. There was nothing wrong with the tire. There was still nothing wrong with it when we got to work and had some light to give it a good look.
I was nearly abducted that morning. Had I been any slower or a little dumber and actually got out of my vehicle, who knows what would have happened. I was at first just scared. Then I got really mad. Who were these people? Didn't they know we were here to help? Didn't they know I was one of the good guys? What right did they have to try and harm me? Why hadn't I had the presence of mind to get a license plate number? What was wrong with all this? I hated all of them. I vocalized that hatred of all things Arabic. They were all evil, brutish beasts and they could all kiss my red white and blue butt. I would start carrying a weapon. I would never be a victim again. I was fine, but anyone who tried ANYTHING with me EVER again would find themselves missing parts of their bodies. But I was fine.
There is a really nice guy named Myers that works with me. I'm not sure what it is, but he loves to pat me on my head when I'm working. Just comes up behind me and pats my head. It's a friendly, nonthreatening gesture in every way. At work that day he came up behind me and patted my head. I nearly jumped out of my chair and involuntary tears came streaming down my cheeks. There's a difference between crying because you're sad and the reactionary tears that come from true terror. There's no sound, just hot salty tears that suddenly spring to your eyes and there is no stopping them. I was ashamed by them and poor Myers was afraid he'd done something to hurt me, which of course he hadn't.
I soon got myself under control and was able to finish out my work day AND drive home by myself. Just let someone try something with me, I kept thinking. I'd run them over if they even looked at me funny. Picric was due to come in at 11:30 PM that night and I was excited and excruciatingly terrified to go get her. I briefly thought about asking Tom to do it, but discarded that thought as weak, which it was. I had, however, asked my new dear friend Terra to go with me. She's a lovely girl and I was really looking forward to hanging out with her - any excuse for girl talk with Terra! Now though, I was particularly glad that I'd asked her to come with me so I wouldn't be so afraid.
I went to pick her up at about 11:00 that night. I told her the whole story and she was very sympathetic, but much to her credit, didn't seem afraid. I'm really getting to like this girl. She's not Cora or Jenn, but she's a totally different flavor of awesome... but I digress. So we got to the cargo pick-up area for KLM. The government buildings here are all completely unmarked, unlit and labyrinthine. I had the name and number for a KLM representative and he'd been pretty helpful with the info just to get me there. I called him and he told me where to wait so he could show me where I needed to go to get started. We stood outside a guard shack waiting.
Two men in uniforms came out and wanted to know if we were afraid standing outside at night by ourselves. We joked a little about how we might not look that tough but we cheated and that we weren't afraid because that's what they were there for - to keep us safe. One of them smirkingly said, "How do you know we're not the bad guys?" This of course sent shivers up my spine, but I stalwartly stood my ground. Nothing was going to deter me from my reunion with Picric. However, I called my KLM contact again and asked him when he would be coming out to meet me again.
He was apologetic and said he'd gotten caught up with another customer but if I just hung tight, this other customer would be able to help me through this whole process. She'd been importing rare-breed cats for years. Any process in Kuwait takes at least an inch thick of paperwork covered by various stamps and shiny stickers. You must drop a few KD at each desk and spend hours talking to 50 different officials to get these pieces of paper with their stamps and stickers. It can be completely bewildering and it was after midnight when my helper finally arrived. She was a short, apple cheeked Kuwaiti woman with a hustle in her walk and an imposing air. Her name was Salwa and she hustled us off after a brief introduction with a "Follow me, girls!" I had at least 4 inches on this woman and I found myself trotting to keep up with her. She led us in and out of buildings, offices and through gates and guard shacks. We went up and down stairs and re-traced our steps at least 10 times to get the stamps and stickers in the right order. It was about half way through the process when it became clear that I was missing one piece of paperwork that I should have gotten weeks before. I was doomed. Picric would be stuck in a government warehouse like the final scene from the first Indiana Jones movie. I'd never see my beloved furry friend again.
Salwa came to my rescue, leaving Terra and I in her luxurious SUV, with her keys in the ignition, her purse and her two expensive Persians from Russia. "To make better my bloodlines..." she explained. She had wanted to know what possessed me to ship such an "ugly cat," but when I told her it was because I loved her, she understood instantly, grabbed me by the hand to drag me off to the next office and told me it was the best reason in all the world, making comforting little cooing noises at me.
She made a deal with the gentlemen in the office that needed my missing piece of paperwork that she would have her friend at another ministry draw up the necessary paperwork and would drop it by the office herself within two days if they would release my cat to me. She gave them her personal word and both of our phone numbers and copies of identification. The whole time, I stood behind her looking as penitent as possible as she exhorted, cajoled and pleaded my case for me with some very traditionally dressed men.
At 3:30 the next morning, Salwa and Terra helped me get Picric's crate into the back of the Fortuner. She gave us hugs and we exchanged phone numbers. She said that when she had picked Picric up (When had she done that? Was this why my initial meeting been held up?) to comfort her because she was crying in her crate, she had noticed what might have been a patch of fungus on her hip. I was to watch it and call her if it got any worse. There was nothing on her hip that I could find later. I half suspected Salwa said that just to make sure I would keep in touch with her. She wanted to make sure I came over to see her cats some time soon. Terra and I thanked her profusely. I had no idea how I would have gotten through the ordeal if it had not been for our new friend. She said the most amazing thing: She remembered Saddam Hussein coming through Kuwait and she always tried to help Americans whenever possible. It was her way of giving back. This is the type of person I want to be friends with: A person with a sense of loyalty and honor. A person who is willing to go a great distance to help a stranger. I have been blessed with people like that my whole life.
But here's the thing. She is of Arab descent. She is of the same people that I hated right? Wrong. So wrong. Kuwaitis and indeed Arabs in general are generous, loving, noble people, just like everyone else I've met on my travels. They're no different from my sweet friends in the Marshall Islands, or Cambodia, or Thailand, or Ireland, or America. They're just like everyone else. There are good people and bad people in the world. There are even good people who do bad things and bad people who do good things, but there is no such thing as a People who are bad. Racism is sneaky and it is always borne of fear. The guys here at work wanted to drag the strip where I had the trouble with me driving and them lying in the back with baseball bats. The funny thing is that it's exactly what Tom's Kuwaiti co-workers talked about doing.
Anyway, Picric is here and is doing well. I'm fine. Tom's fine. The cowards that tried to victimize me are just that. Individual cowards. They are not representatives of an entire race. They deserve to meet up with someone a little more prepared so they can receive the thrashing they have coming to them. The majority of the people in the world - people like Salwa - deserve our friendship, gratitude and respect.
If I learned anything from that 25 hour period, it's that fear should never be tolerated - especially in yourself. Fear: the mind killer, the little death. You must pluck it out of yourself. Never generalize or tolerate racism, because the second you do, it's you who becomes the beast.
Oh! And I learned to always keep my cell phone where I can grab it immediately. Peace.
:)
