A Cockney's Journey

by Eddie Allen

  After landing at Jeddah airport and going through the usual rigmarole of getting through customs, the three of us left the airport. Standing outside, James and Al and I watched in amazement at the manic spectacle. Everyone was tearing about like the end of the world was coming; every car, taxi, van and lorry constantly sounded his or her horn. I’ve never heard such a racket in my life; bloody loonies, all of them. I noticed that nearly every vehicle that passed us had major damage; pranged wings and dented doors. Unbelievable. If this were London, the old Bill would have a field day; nicking every driver, left, right and centre.

  “Hey, Johnny! Carry your bags, Johnny? Ten riyals. Good price, Johnny,” screamed this kid as he grabbed my suitcase handle.

  “Oi! You let go of my bloody suitcase. We’re waiting for a coach, you dickhead,” I shouted angrily, pulling the little runt off my suitcase handle.

  “Please Johnny, no food for days, Johnny,” the skinny runt said pointing to his mouth. Being a soft touch, I gave the kid five riyals and sent him on his way.

  “Hey, Johnny! Carry your bags? Ten riyals. Cheap, Johnny, ehh?” said another bloody kid.

  “No thanks, I’m waiting for someone,” I said, gesturing for him to go away. This went on for at least an hour while we waited for our lift to the site. While I was fending off yet another beggar, this old blue and white filthy coach pulled up. The Arincon sign in the front windscreen confirmed it was our transport. Once on the coach we found ourselves in the company of guys from France, Germany, Spain, Wales, Scotland and the north and south of England. After a hair-raising journey, the coach arrived at Arincon’s construction site, which was situated smack-bang in the middle of the desert; about five or six miles from Jeddah. I noticed the heat haze was a lot thicker here than at the airport. It was so hot and humid; I actually found it slightly difficult to breathe.

  I glanced around the site; I could see at least a dozen portable billets and other large buildings, which I later found to be a canteen, reception, first aid room, recreation areas and company offices. All the facilities were only a short walking distance from the site. This was going to be our work place and home for the next two years. During our induction, we were told that we had three days to get acclimatised to the conditions. I sat reading the induction handouts. On no occasion should you venture into the sea without foot protection due to the increasing numbers of stonefish. Always take your salt tablets and drink plenty of fluids during the day. Alcohol is totally forbidden on and off the site and anybody found breaking this rule will be instantly sacked. Working hours are 5:30 a.m. to 2:00 p.m., due to the high temperatures in the afternoon. Working days will be Saturday till Thursday and rest day will be every Friday. While reading, I came across a page full of warnings regarding the rules in Arabia. If any person or persons are involved in a car incident and a citizen of Saudi Arabia is injured, you will be expected to support their family. I read on, subject to Saudi law if anyone is convicted of stealing or any violence, they will be dealt with severely. Do not attempt to converse with any Saudi women…blah blah blah.

  After the induction, we were shown our living quarters and the canteen, where we would have all our meals. Very impressive, I thought. Apparently, all the food came over in containers from Germany. The company’s chef refused to use or cook anything from Jeddah. He advised us to never eat anything from the souk, or local market, especially meat, otherwise you could end up with a severe bout of dysentery. He told us that the local kebabs were lethal and in some places in the souk, meat is left out for days in the heat to dry out and would then be riddled with extremely deadly bacteria. Food poisoning and dysentery were commonplace in Westerners over here in Saudi, he informed us. Unfortunately, not everyone heeded his warnings, with at least ten guys going down with dysentery in the first three months. He also advised us to look after ourselves and drink plenty of water, take our salt tablets and pray we didn’t fall ill.

  “The last place on this planet you would want to visit is the local Jeddah hospital. Believe me,” he said, shaking his head.

  After unpacking my clothes and washing utilities, the three of us strolled around the billets, introducing ourselves to fellow workers. I must admit that my initial impression of most of the guys we met was, to say the least, somewhat disturbing. I mean, they were very aggressive in their manner, which really bothered me; none more so than the site manager, Angus McNamara. What a complete nutter! All he did was talk out of his arse, going on about how long he’d been in Saudi and that he couldn’t wait to escape. Escape? Why don’t you just go home if you’ve had enough? However, it wasn’t as simple as that, because he’d signed a contract with the company that would delay his exit visa and it could take up to six months to get one. He reckoned the reason behind the delay was the shortage of managers wanting to work abroad and, being on a rolling contract, they had him by the balls. So his only alternative was to escape across the Red Sea to El Madia in Egypt, which was next to Aswan. Well, the guy’s definitely lost the plot, big time, I thought.

  The three days quickly passed and we started work on site in the blazing heat. I’ve never in my life been so bloody hot and by 2 o’clock each day I was fit to drop. I spent the first week trowelling and floating up concrete panels, working non-stop due to the heat setting the concrete rapidly. The site hooters sounded, indicating our wages were ready. Every Thursday, at 1 p.m. on the dot, we got paid. All the workers lined up in Indian file, signing the sheet and receiving their wages, which was paid in cash (Saudi riyals). Everyone was informed that they could exchange their riyals when they visited the souk later that day. Transport was laid on for all workers going into Jeddah after the evening meal at six o’clock. Surprisingly, only a few wanted to go into town, so three other guys, myself, Al and James boarded a minibus to the local souk.

  On arriving at the souk, I wasn’t prepared for or had a clue what to expect. Not in my wildest dreams did I imagine it would be the most magical place I’d ever been to in my life. Absolutely unbelievable; the souk’s mesmerising colours and exotic aromas hit your senses the moment you set foot in the place. Spectacular would be an understatement. Souks are the heartbeat of Saudi Arabia; their mystic aura has drawn in shoppers from all over the globe. Amid the maze of alleyways, you’ll find shops and stalls piled high with anything from soft leather shoes, wrought-iron lamps, embroidered multi-coloured kaftans to intricately carved cedarwood boxes and incense burners. Jewellery, watches, hubbly-bubbly pipes and sacks upon sacks overflowing with exotic spices. Strategically placed around the souk were several money-changers. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, these guys were surrounded by piles of different currency and chequebooks from every country you can imagine. The greatest thing I loved about souks was the way I’d haggle with every stallholder, bidding them down from, say ten riyals to five, and walking away with a bargain. Sometimes, however, even when successfully haggling, I had the gut feeling I’d just been done. After reluctantly parting with my money, the money-changer assured me that the cheque would be honoured.

  “Trust me, effendi. This time next week the funds will be in your bank. I’m not in the business of stealing, only earn a living,” he explained in broken English.

  True to his word, the following Thursday I phoned Sue and she confirmed that the cheque had cleared.

  One of the things that fascinated me during my visits to the souk was this old snake charmer. He would sit cross-legged and was dressed like Laurence of Arabia, playing a tune on some sort of flute to a wicker basket. Sensationally, this rather large snake would rise out of the basket, hypnotised and completely oblivious to its surroundings, and when the tune stopped the snake would return to the basket, coiling up inside; absolutely bloody amazing!

  One day, we were sitting around outside the local food and drink stall, sipping what we now call smoothies, when we noticed this young Arab boy being hounded out of the souk. Stall handlers chased and whipped him with bamboo sticks, shouting loudly and aggressively. I noticed he only had one han
d. I felt extremely sorry for the young boy, who could only have been twelve or thirteen years old. It wasn’t until later that I found out that the young boy was a convicted thief; his punishment for thieving in my opinion was completely barbaric. Only in this part of the world would you have your hand chopped off for stealing! The following day on site, Angus called me over to his boiling hot container office. What came out of his mouth belonged up his arse.

  “Eddie,” he said looking deep into my eyes with a manic glare, “I need you to build me a raft so I can cross the Red Sea to Egypt. I can cover your absence from site easily. There’s two empty containers next to this one. That’s where you’ll work from,” he said, staring at me blankly.

  “You sure?” I asked sarcastically. “I mean, what you gonna do if, by some miracle, you actually do get to bloody Egypt. Walk home?”

  “Oh, very funny, Ed. I’ve got my passport and plenty of cash to get me anywhere I want,” he added confidently. “Well, you up for it or what?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so. Ain’t got fuck all to lose, have I,” I said, agreeing to his plan.

  “Good. You can start tomorrow morning,” he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling with anticipation.

  Well, in my opinion, Angus definitely left half his brain in Scotland. This guy actually believed he could sail across the Red Sea unnoticed. Mind you, that’s if my raft doesn’t sink. I’m no boat builder, although you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to suss out how to get something to float in water. So the next day I started gathering materials from all over the site, being asked on the odd occasion what I was building for Angus.

  For the next couple of weeks, I started to assemble what I thought was a pukka kontiki. My plan was to build two halves; one in each container. When finished, both halves would be bolted together. The only problem was the heat. The burning sun made it impossible to work in the container for long periods. Consequently, progress was very slow. It took me three weeks to build one half of the raft. Angus used to visit me on a daily basis, checking the raft’s progress; he gave me the impression that he was desperate, and he was extremely impatient.

  “One half done, Angus, and we need to test it to make sure I’m on the right path. We can see if she floats tonight. What do ya reckon?” I said, feeling proud of my achievement.

  “Absolutely. Can’t wait. Shall we say four o’clock, Ed? I’ll bring the jeep,” he smiled.

  “We’re gonna need help, Angus. The bloody thing is really heavy. Shall I bring Al and James to give us a hand?” I asked, hoping he would agree.

  “Yeah fine, make sure you tell them to keep their traps shut.”

  “Cool, I’ll see you at four. Oh, Angus, don’t forget to bring a long tow rope.”

  Just as our conversation ended, the site hooters sounded, signalling the end of yet another hot and sticky day. After explaining to Al and James what I’ve been doing for Angus, they just simply fell about the billet laughing.

  “You must be joking, Ed. I knew that sweaty sock was off his trolley,” Al laughed.

  “I’ll definitely give you a hand, Ed. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Do ya reckon it’ll float, mate?” James asked, grinning.

  “Bloody hope so. If it doesn’t, Angus won’t be best pleased. Anyway, I’m confident my kontiki will float.” I crossed my fingers in hope.

  “Well, this will be a giggle, especially if it sinks with that dickhead on it,” Al said, laughing hysterically.

  After all the banter, the three of us made our way down to the container and waited for Angus to turn up with the company’s jeep. Dead on four, he pulled up, looking and acting like a kid on Christmas morning. The four of us dragged my masterpiece from the container and tied it on the back of the jeep.

  “Fucking hell, Eddie. It’s too heavy, this won’t bloody float,” Angus cried, shaking his head in disappointment.

  “Trust me Angus, it’ll float. Do ya know how heavy a real ship is? Tons and bloody tons and they still float. My only concern is how you are gonna steer the thing. I’ll have to make you some paddles,” I said, trying to convince him.

  Al and James stood there, shaking their heads grinning in disbelief.

  “OK, let’s give it a bash,” Angus said half-heartedly.

  So we made our way to the beach, which was only ten minutes away. We untied and dragged my raft to the edge of the Red Sea. Angus tied the rope to the back of the jeep and attached it to the raft. We then pushed the raft out to sea. I stood looking pensive, praying it wouldn’t sink. Angus waded into the water and climbed on the raft. He stood up, waving his arms in the air, shouting out, “You’re a bloody genius, Eddie boy. It floats, lad!”

  Phew, it actually does float.

  “Told ya, didn’t I, Angus? You just gotta have faith,” I said smugly.

  The rope was now at full stretch and Angus was at least a hundred feet out to sea. “Pull me in, lads, this is definitely not going to sink,” Angus shouted waving his arms and grinning like a big Cheshire cat.

  “I must admit, Ed, I’m very impressed with your raft, even though it looks like half a pie,” Al said, as we pulled Angus ashore. We tied the raft back onto the jeep and headed back to site. After placing the raft in the container, Angus gave me a hug and thanked me.

  The next day, I started to build the second half of my kontiki in the last empty container. It was late morning, I think about eleven thirty, and I was struggling with a long piece of ply, bending it around the raft and holding it in place, while trying to screw the bloody thing to the framework. Every time I got it into place, it would spring back. Getting extremely frustrated, I kept plugging away until finally I got it to stay put. Just as I achieved my goal, the site hooters started blasting out. It can’t be two o’clock, I thought. So, mistakenly I ignored the sound and carried on screwing the ply to the framework, not wanting to let go, and go through all that again.

  After securing the ply, I walked out the container and lit a fag up. Looking around the site, I noticed that everyone had gone. Blimey, it must be two. Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun, I laughed to myself. I pushed the doors to and locked the container. I also noticed, for the first time since arriving in Saudi, that there was no sunshine. I glanced around, looking across the site again and realised why everyone had gone. Coming directly towards me was a huge whirlwind, like a tornado spitting sand everywhere. Fuck me, a sandstorm! I thought, quickly pulling my t-shirt off and wrapping it around my face. I legged it towards the billets. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it and was swept of my feet. In the few seconds that I was engulfed in howling gale force winds, I swear I could hear voices whispering in my ears. Suddenly the wind released its grip on me and dumped me in a heap about thirty yards away. I curled up into a ball and tried to cover every orifice in my body. I was literally buried alive in sand; luckily my breathing was not impaired, thanks to my t-shirt, which was wrapped around my face forming a mask. After what seemed like hours, I heard faint voices all around me. I jerked up out of my shallow sandy grave to the sound of someone screaming hysterically.

  “Fucking hell, it’s a mummy or even a bloody zombie!” the voice cried.

  OK, it’s quite possible that for a split second I could have resembled a mummy, being covered in sand with faceless features, but a zombie? Fuck me, you must be joking. I stood up, shaking and brushing sand off my body and pulled my t-shirt from my face, coughing and spitting on the floor.

  “You alright, Ed?” James asked, looking concerned.

  “Just about! Got right caught then, didn’t I, James?” I said looking pale-faced and shocked. “In hindsight, I should have stayed in the container,” I said shaking sand out of my hair.

  “You’re dead lucky, Eddie. You could have suffocated. Thank fuck you’re clued up, otherwise it could have been a different story,” Angus said, patting me on the back.

  Clued up? You must be joking. That was pure luck or something else. How strange was it that the whirlwind dropped me after a few seconds and the voice
s - maybe my guardian angel, helped me?

  The following day, after hunting around for more materials, I resumed building my kontiki for Angus. Over the next couple of weeks, I made steady progress and the end was near. During the time it took to build the raft, I lost a stone and half in weight. The heat in the container was just like working in a sauna and I sighed with relief at the completion of my task. The kontiki was now ready for its maiden voyage across the Red Sea. Over the next few days, Angus gathered supplies, storing them in the container. Finally, he declared he was ready to vamoose and urged us not to say anything to anyone, even after he’d gone. We arranged to meet him at the container at around five o’clock that evening. Me, Al and James stood waiting by the container for Angus to turn up.

  “Quarter past five. He’s bottled it, Ed,” reckoned Al.

  “Nah, he can’t. All that bloody graft for fuck all? There must be a reason why he’s late,” I said, trying to convince myself.

  In the distance, I could see his jeep tearing across the desert avoiding large sand dunes, trying not to get stuck. The dust cloud could be seen for miles. The advancing jeep looked like an army of Bedouins on horseback, charging forward. Talk about drawing attention to yourself, I thought, looking completely astonished as Angus ploughed through the sand, pushing the jeep to its limit. He finally skidded to a halt, covering the three of us in sand dust.