A Tale of two Cities - Dammam, Saudi Arabia and Manama, Bahrain

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity . . . it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair . . . in short, the period was so far like the present period . . . .

Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.

It was a sunny Tuesday morning, the blue sky had cotton candy clouds and a cool breeze was blowing. The date was 15 January, 1991. Kuwait was under occupation by the Iraqi army. The Americans where mobilizing for the start of the ground war. The air war had already commenced and the latest technology in air warfare was pitted against the WWII equipped Iraqi army. CNN was broadcasting all over the Gulf Countries and people where glued to their televisions watching as events unfolded.

I was in Dammam, Saudi Arabia. I needed to go to Manama, Bahrain urgently, my current place of residence.

I had a large heavy Delsey suitcase with all my clothes and miscellaneous items in it. Airplane flights where sporadic, civilian planes where allowed or barred from flying at the whim of the US Central Command based in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia managing and commanding Desert Storm, the name of the exercise to liberate Kuwait. Today, civilian planes where not allowed to fly.

My only option was to cross the King Fahad causeway, linking Bahrain to Eastern Saudi Arabia. I flagged down a Taxi, and told him, "take me to Manama, Bahrain". He gave me a strange look and told me it was impossible, "Why?", I asked, he replied, "Taxis are not allowed through". "Hmm, ok, drop me at the causeway passport booth, I will walk to Bahrain". He gave me a look, probably thinking, "crazy Kuwaiti" but drove me to the passport booth. The causeway was around 10 to 15 kilometers long. I walked greater distances before. I could probably walk it dragging my heavy suitcase.

I unloaded my suitcase, my Kuwait passport ready in my dishdasha front pocket, and presented my passport to the passport official, he took it and asked for my car registration. "I don't have a car, I am going to walk my way", I answered like it was a normal sane option. "Sorry, I cannot process this", he answered and threw my passport back at me. "Ok, if I have a car, would you let me through?", "yes", he answered tersely and looked away. I walked to the other side of the booth and waited for someone to drive by and give me a ride. The passport officer, shouted from his booth, "You can't stand here, go away". Never to piss off an official, I dragged my suitcase and went down the road, where I was no so visible to him. I saw a Kuwaiti car approaching. I could tell it was a Kuwaiti car because the license plates where removed, it was sand colored because of the dust and desert dirt that stuck to it. The passengers where a family of six, the mother and father sitting in the front, 3 kids in the back and their Indian maid trying to control the boisterous kids. They looked like they have just come out of Kuwait.

I waved at them with my passport, hoping they might stop and help a compatriot in trouble, no luck, they pretended not to see me and sped in front of me. I cannot blame them, they probably escaped from Kuwait taking the desert route, avoiding the formal borders manned by the Iraqis, risking car breakdown in the middle of the desert, land mines or other unknown dangers.

Other cars passed in front of me, no one stopped. The sun was becoming hotter and it was getting near noon. I was wearing a white cotton summer dishdasha with white ghitra and iqal, I lowered my ghitra as the sun became more intense. I saw an olive green Saab coupe approaching with a single driver. It had Bahraini license plates, with 3 digits, possibly meaning that driver was a member of the Bahrain Royal family or a powerful Bahraini business man. I waved him down, and ... to my surprise ... he stopped. He rolled down the automatic passenger window, "Where do you want to go?", "just to Manama" I answered. "Ok, get in". The automatic trunk opened and I threw my suitcase in and got in the Saab. The driver was wearing an impeccable starched dishdasha and ghutra. He had gold bazmas (cufflinks) at the end of his sleeves, and a solid gold rolex watch, with a diamond border. I sunk in the beige leather contour seat. The radio was off but the air conditioning was turned on to the max. It felt good after standing in the sun for over an hour.

It was a quiet ride, no small talk, no talk about politics,no probing questions on what I was doing hitch hiking to Manama from Saudi Arabia I just sat and looked at the blue Gulf out of my window.

we presented our passports to the Saudi officials, they let us through.

Fifteen minutes later, we where on the Bahraini side of the causeway, again our passports where presented, and we quickly passed through. A convoy of gigantic US army trucks coming from Saudi Arabia passed us driving full speed, as if there was no border. All military vehicles at the time where allowed free access all over the Kuwait theater of Operations (KTO), meaning all the Arabian peninsula, without any interference from the civilian authorities.

We drove on into Manama and he dropped me in front of my apartment building, I thanked him profusely and he nodded acknowledging my thanks.

I was back in Manama at my temporary home.