Major Acid's E-Rag
From the Kingdom
From
Saudi Arabia in Early 2000
I visit the Turkey Barber
Dear Barry:
Today I went to the Turkey Barber. It's
not what you're thinking. I don't actually have a turkey. In fact,
turkeys are quite rare in the Kingdom. There are chickens and roosters,
many of them on the street right outside the school I teach in. But no
turkeys, unless you count the frozen kind.
What there are in the Kingdom, along with
chickens, are many western ex-patriots, and that means many a lonely
person yearning for home. Thanksgiving and Christmas especially are
holidays when missing home really hits hard. To the average Saudi
businessman, however, these lonesome ex-pats represent a money-making
opportunity. Large, frozen, grossly overpriced turkeys appear like
magic in the Kingdom's supermarkets in the fall.
A medium sized frozen turkey costs about
$50 Canadian. I bought one anyway, but having paid that much for my
Christmas turkey, I wasn't about to add to the cost by giving the
deceased bird a haircut. Which it didn't need anyway, having been
thoroughly plucked before being frozen.
I was the one who needed the haircut.
Hair normally is worn quite short in the Kingdom, at least on men. I
doubt the same applies to women, but I am only guessing, since women
generally are blanketed head to foot in the basic black abbaya. The
exceptions are Western women who are thoroughly black only from neck to
foot, their bare heads and long hair being a sort of ex-pat symbol of
feminist defiance.
I wasn't trying to defy anyone. I just
needed a haircut, but in the Kingdom that meant I had a choice - visit
a Saloon or visit a Turkey Barber.
I had already been to a Saloon. In my
first few days as an ex-pat, perhaps still suffering from jet-lag, I
was astounded to find in Jeddah a huge number of businesses calling
themselves Saloons. I had begun to think that the Kingdom didn't
really deserve its reputation as perhaps the most conservative Islamic
country in the world, where possession of a single glass of beer will
get you a prison term.
On one particularly hot evening, then, I
confidently walked through the doors of a Saloon - wondering if all the
beers would be American brands - only to be hustled into a barber's
chair by a gentleman who wielded scissors and a straight razor about
my head with great abandon, all the while talking non-stop Arabic to
another gentleman sitting nearby. I got an excellent haircut, and for
only 10 Saudi Riyals, too, which works out to about $3.90 Canadian. I
did not get a beer.
Despite my good haircut, I had been
rather surprised by my Saloon adventure and had decided to try a new
barber. After Saloon, Turkey Barber seems to be the most commonly found
English phrase on those signs which have any English at all below the
Arabic script. I had asked around, too, and had been assured that
turkey didn't mean either a large, stupid bird or a medium-sized
gullible ex-pat. I chose my Turkey at random, took a breath, and
pushed through the doors.
Not a gobbler was in sight, and in the
end I received yet another fine haircut. About the only difference
between the Saloon and the Turkey Barber was the price. This one cost
me 20 Riyals, or about $7.80 Canadian. But it was worth it. The slight
tugging on your hair in time to the clicking of the scissors and the
first shiver you feel as the straight razor whispers against your neck
... it is a sensory experience we have lost in the West where hair
salons assault your head with designer gels and angrily buzzing electric
razors. Give me a Turkey Barber any day.
The bell for class is ringing. Just one
more thing -- it turns out that Turkey, as in Turkey Barber, really
means the country. My barber is a Turkish ex-pat with a mostly Turkish
clientele, now increased by one well-groomed but still thirsty
Canadian ex-pat.
From the Kingdom,
