Before my parents returned to the States, they offered to help financially, if I wanted to try to get Aisha out of Saudi Arabia.
Three years had passed since my parents had seen Aisha in Jeddah. In the fall of 1993, my parents received visas to come visit. They were offered the use of the home of a couple I worked with, in the family complex, while they were on vacation. It was a perfect fit for all of us, with three bedrooms and two baths. Being in the “couples compound” meant more freedom to come and go.
During my daughter’s weekend visits, my parents commented on what a significant difference there was in Aisha’s mannerisms from their visit in ’89. She was now eight years old, and three years is a lot of time in which to grow up. It was more about how reserved she was, how she behaved toward men—in this case, my dad. She would not get close to my father. He did have a long, bushy beard, and she didn’t know him, but this went much deeper than that. She was awkward and self-conscious about giving her grandfather a simple hug, as if it was haram (forbidden). It was almost as if she was being taught that it was not all right to do so. This was a behavior I hadn’t seen in her approach to anyone else, whether she knew them or not. Her American grandpa and grandma were very concerned about Aisha’s well-being, as this was atypical for a child of her age in the States. This was such a big change in this part of her life, one I had not observed, that I wondered if I may have been too close to see it before. Aisha looked at my dad as if she should be cautious of him. I kept reminding her, “He is your grandpa.” As time went on, she warmed up to him, but it did give us reason for concern.
My parents’ month-long visit was filled with a variety of activities. We all played together. My father taught Aisha to ride a bike, and she taught my mother to dance. Aisha was definitely the life of the party wherever she went. We had a maʹa s-salāma party, a mixed-company going-away party, for two women from my work unit who were leaving. Aisha entertained us with accomplished Arabic dancing, dancing with all of us. We had a fantastic time, and maybe thirty to forty employees and family members showed up to celebrate into the wee hours of the morning in this amazingly free compound.
My parents and I participated in events that were held through my employment and at the American embassy and attended various gatherings with friends of mine. We visited my first cousin, an expat from Kansas, who worked in telecommunications. We went out to dinner and took sightseeing trips of Saudi ruins.
We hired a limo to take us out in the desert for a day to visit a camel farm. While in the desert, we were invited into a large white Bedouin tent made of camel skin. We sat on a thick red printed carpet on the floor to drink Arabic coffee that was made from cardamom seeds, a flavor that one gets used to. As it was during Ramadan, the men in the tent were fasting, but they still showed us their incredible hospitality and served us coffee. We didn’t see any women around; they may have been back in the city preparing food for breaking the fast. I was grateful for the Arabic I knew and understood enough to carry on a decent conversation.
My dad was often called an American mutawa because he had such a long, graying beard that extended well onto his chest. I teased Dad, “I do not know if you should have that long of a beard here.” It was definitely a conversation starter.
When my parents left Riyadh, I had two regrets. I had not invited my daughter’s other grandparents to our home to meet my parents, and they hadn’t invited us to their home.
Before leaving, my parents talked with me about their concerns for Aisha. They saw a certain brainwashing in how she reacted, and it really bothered them. They mentioned that they would be willing to help financially if I wanted to try to get Aisha out of Saudi Arabia. I was surprised to hear them say this; my mother had never offered to give me any money for anything, period.
They were able to see the drastic cultural differences between the two countries, and they saw how dissimilar to her old self Aisha had become. I understood what they observed. I had become part of it, however, so it wasn’t as apparent to me. I noticed it in myself when I went back to the States for vacations. I found myself becoming more self-conscious of what I wore and where I was. My friends started pointing out that, based on the way I talked about things in Saudi Arabia, I had acclimated to a way of life that didn’t fit my customary patterns.