Across the Desert

By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
Dumaguete Star Informer
23 August 2009

The morning has almost broken in this desert-Kingdom at half-an-hour past four early dawn. I said almost has broken because by this time, the darkness has been relieved by light that has already touched the beige-colored sand dunes.

Yes, it was too early for a sunrise!

It was my first trip to Riyadh, the Capital City of the Land of Contrast, the title Saudi Arabia is known for. Excitement paddled my interest to travel to Riyadh despite the expected five-to-six-hours ordeal by car.

Hurdling over time constraint for my board presentation, I opened my laptop on the instruction of my general manager and finalized my text. At six in the morning, I was done and was ready to view the areas where my naked eyes can reach.

I thought Saudi Arabia is barren: as barren as the dry minds of our “politicos” whose vested interests vividly display advances of yet-to-see encounters in the polls. In the same token, I also thought that Saudi Arabia is as barren as the knowledge-dehydrated minds of the members of the two houses of the ever beautiful archipelagic Philippines whose platforms speak of no less than the-same-old-story conquests of the “trapos” in town.

But lo, the images I saw revealed the contrast: This Kingdom is truly amazingly beautiful. Imagine a mountain of wilderness stretching from coast to coast lying perpetually in between stretches of valleys, industrial cities and residential areas; imagine large track of badlands with sexually-invigorating and energy-supplying Arabian Dates growing everywhere, water-free camels surfing the field, and cacti standing erect in disorganized yet creative array amidst the hottest sunrays this world could only have.

Truly, this is the land of contrast: the land where thirsts are quenched right in the oasis in the middle of the badlands. As in the written history, hospitality industry sprouted out of the Arabian caravan trips where people stop where water supply is evident, make trade agreements and other activities all happening in tents. Later these tents evolve into hostels, hostels into travelers’ inns, and later travelers’ inns into the modern-day hotels.

Again, my mind flaunted various activities that happened in the desert. It is in the same spot where natives fight against European invaders trying to wrest the oil-filled sand dunes. It is in the same field where natives stood firm and envisioned one-nation kingdom for all the tribes that used to fight against each other for one objective: dominate.

This desert has almost the same story and history as ours: several tribes fighting against European invaders for freedom; tribes fighting against each other to test who will dominate and rule the nation. Yes, they did this before; we did the same before.

The only difference now lies on the freedom from all maligns and malicious intentions. This Kingdom is ruled finally by one man; our nation is ruled by several forces that enslave man who is trying to unseat the highly-coveted Malacanang throne: Jealousy, Greed, Pride, and a lot more.

Across miles of desert reveal the sweats , bloods and energies of thousands of expatriates outwitting against Master Creator just to make a beautiful coherence between technology and nature over time: sea water converted into sweet (drinking) and household water, water wastes converted into gardening sprinkles, dry and arid land irrigated for the world’s best supply of fruits and vegetables; hot-stricken wasteland rigged to produce the most important resource for this technology-dominated society – the petroleum, and a lot more.

This “a lot more” means an array of subject paralleled to the infinite dry sand dunes of the Kingdom: apparently uncertain in count and limitless in scope.

Arguably, crossing these miles of desert is just like crossing over obstacles we OFWs injure and endure daily: unwanted pregnancies, school drop outs, failing scholastic performance, drugs and alcohol addiction, juvenile delinquency, marital break ups, losing properties, gambling, psychological imbalances and insanities, untimely deaths of a family member, stress and pressure, work-related problems, molestations, unfair labor practices, demotions and promotions, drying up barn, unpaid and accumulating bills, tuition fees, house maintenance, hospital bills, unpaid debts, etc., etc., etc.

According to natives, Judas Cave, or simply the cave where Judas hid after the biblical sale of Jesus to the Romans, is found right in the place called Al Hofuf, in the Kingdom. Seeing the travails just before the turn to Riyadh reminds me of the same desert our great Savior Jesus Christ suffered from his tormentors; it is the same desert we all have to cross daily.

Conversely, it is the same cave all of us mustered; the same cave all of us will try to muster at the end of each period. No matter how vast one’s desert is or will be, the thing is: we all can trek and cross over the badland overwhelmingly lying before us fruitfully.

And whether or not I survived the five-to-six-hour ordeal one way to Riyadh, the same feat abound: meeting targets at all cost. Conversely, crossing miles of desert is meeting the objective at all cost. This means, either we do things by human forces or by natural graces the Master Creator accords us.

Happy crossing!