Into the land called Arabia
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries

The Gulf Airbus safely touched down the runway of Bahrain International Airport at exactly four o’clock in the afternoon on the 10th of July 2008, the first time I would be completely alienated from my native home. I said completely because I had been traveling since 1986 for my training, seminars, and conferences abroad, but these are matters I can say of a temporal alienation only.

It was a taxing nine-hour air stride but sensibly exciting. Bahrain is an open, beautiful kingdom despite its minute size compared to the Kingdom where I am billeted today.

If I have to put my two cents in, the airport is more inferior to ours, especially NAIA 2. What strikes me is the strict compliance of their immigration and customs requirements plus the highly-technical equipments. Technically speaking, this country has a more extensive inspection process than ours.

After waiting for two hours, we were ushered to the bus bound for Al-Khobar, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia where my employer will pick me up at about ten in the evening. Before reaching the boarder is the immigration office of this tiny but powerful kingdom where all of us were required to present once again our travel documents for exit.

The long, single cue to the four-counter-immigration desk that was manned by a single, lousy officer was sickening. I could visibly imagine the scene from the movie Schindler’s List where Jews were asked to move out of the camp in single cue and inspected. The Jews suffered in the hands of these anti-Christ believers and we too, including other races, suffered discomforts with them that day. But this is my personal note only; this is not coming from the entire group.

Ergo, immigration exit requirements were completed and after barely ten minutes, we were asked again to fall in line for another immigration process. This time, we were already in the most powerful kingdom of the Middle East, the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

Tired and hungry, the incomprehensible language and threatening looks from the two officers annoyed and made me crave. The immigration office had 8 counters but only one officer was entertaining the almost two hundred Asian overseas workers in cue. This took us about an hour-and-a-half. After this process, we passed by the Customs Office for another inspection: no alcohols, smut magazines, immoral pictures, Christian stuffs should be seen, otherwise, it would be another agony of interrogation, they said.

It was such a very exhausting experience we could not afford to resist. It looks like the farewell march from the movie The Longest Day.

The bus stopped at the station at 12;30 early morning of the 11th of July 2008. After removing my luggage from the compartment, I stood alongside the road and moved carefully my eyes as if I was scanning the area for an enemy, or some sort. Arabis, Indians, and other nationals were approaching us all offering their taxi service. Quickly and proudly I responded: my employer will pick me up.

After one hour of standing at the roadside, a Filipino suggested of staying at the front of the Bus Terminal Office which I heeded. There I met fellow Filipinos and learned their employers were not yet picking them up. Another hour passed and only the three of us remained standing at the terminal.

My fear grew extensively because a Friday is the prayer day for the Islam. I have heard news and rumors that anyone showing disrespect to their practice or to their citizen is subject to execution. Disrespect can be in a form of eating, drinking, spitting, laughing or shouting while the “Sala” or prayer is going on. I am new; I was new in the land that day. I was scared.

One car stopped in front of us and asked us using this famous word: kabayan? I stared at the middle-aged man blankly but the other guy nodded. These Filipinos moved out of the car and offered us one 10-slice KFC chicken bucket with rice, fries, bread and soft drinks. We learned later that the food was intended for the three OFWs who were supposed to be in the same bus but did not make it.

It was then I learned one word that was so common back home; one word that can command and unite all Filipinos abroad: kabayan! I also I realized that the best of our traits are still shown even in this time of technology-controlled society, and where competition abounds: camaraderie and hospitality. Our good-natured manner and friendly attitude really make us globally outstanding and highly demanding. And how I wish every Filipino can do what this man did to us.

We conversed and this man offered to call my employer who was annoyed because he was on vacation. Anyway, the long and short of it was that I was picked up at about 6:00 in the morning and learned that this man waited for me from 11:00 until 12:00 midnight. Our trip was short of thirty minutes; otherwise, he could have brought me earlier to my flat.

Since a Friday is a weekend here, all stores are closed; they are opened in the evening. This nocturnal activity has long been a practice here. And since I could not buy for my breakfast, I would have to wait for the evening, which means, I’d be starving the whole day. I cleaned my room, arranged my stuffs in the locker and went out to buy for a grab. I started to walk and noticed that no one except me was in the street. I went back and met my flat mate. He offered me the breakfast. Again this was a confirmation of us known to be very hospitable and kind. I was relieved.

Into the land of the Arabians, or which part of the globe, we Filipinos are still Filipinos in thoughts, in words, and in deeds. This is said sans the purity of the thought, sanctity of the words, and sincerity of the action.

These are Pinoys in the Middle East!

Published in Dumaguete Starinformer, 05 October 2008, Sunday