Pollywogs!

Arabian Nights.

Scheherazade and 1001 Tales, by El Cid.

—
Tale #3 - Wa’lad: (Boy), A Tale of Regret.

We spent our last couple of days in Jeddah – a really beautiful city on the Red Sea. One of the places I wanted D to see was the marketplace in Old Jeddah (one of the 1001 places to see before you die according to the book of the same name). After some discussion it was decided that it was much too hot to try to get out of the car and walk around Old Jeddah with two babies and a couple of people who are unaccustomed to temperatures over 100 and humidity of 44% or greater.

So we took a driving tour of Old Jeddah (quite an adventure, and a tale for another night). After our adventure (and I kid you not – it was an adventure) we stopped at a gas station for gas. I noticed some people sitting by the gas pumps on one of the islands at the gas station. I asked M why they were sitting there – there were two women, a baby and about 3 children. It was sooo hot and it seemed like a miserable place to “hang out”. M told me that they were poor and they hung out there hoping that people would give them money. They weren’t begging or asking for money. They were just sitting there in the heat with the smell of gasoline around them. M said that they were probably illegal aliens from one of the war torn countries of Africa.

Because they are illegal aliens they can’t get papers to work at regular jobs, so the men will usually do menial jobs that Saudis don’t want to do and the women and children will beg. M said that if we were going to give one of them money we had to give them all money. So we got together enough to give them all 1 Riyal each (about 27 cents). One of the children was a little boy (wa’lad). He was about 4 or 5. When M called them over to the car, the children held back until he called them over too. He gave them each a Riyal and the look on that boy’s face will stay with me for a long time. He was so happy – his smile covered his whole face.

I couldn’t stop myself from comparing his life with the life of my grandbabies. I still think about him. I can’t even describe the emotions I feel. His gratitude and happiness at given so little. I could not look away from him the entire time we were at the gas station. I am not a person who usually feels discontented with their life. And since SA I feel it even less. When I start to want things or look around and think I need to get this or I need to get that I think of that little boy. I send him wishes (for what they are worth) of hope that he will have a good life. And I regret not giving more.