We visited various enclosures and saw lady camels, teenage camels, young camels, old camels and pregnant camels. Colton slipped a worker 2BD to allow us into a pen with mother and baby camels. The babies stared at us with liquid eyes then turned to drink from their haughty, loose-lipped mothers.
I’m very fond of camels. I like their snooty attitude and beautiful eyes, fringed with thick lashes. I fell in love with one particularly gorgeous camel I named Camilla, who seemed to have a permanent smile.
Camilla, the smiling camel
“Can’t we take her back to Spain?” I asked Joe. “I’m sure the King wouldn’t notice just one missing. We could tether her with Uncle Felix’s mule in the village.”
Camels chewing, camels drinking, camels standing, sitting, kicking, dozing, dreaming, playing. Noisy camels, silent camels, foaming camels, defecating camels, flatulent camels. I wanted to walk around the entire compound and see them all.
“Come on,” said Joe, sweat pouring down his face. “Let’s go. Once you’ve seen one camel, you’ve seen the lot.”
But I had my way, and we strolled around under the beating sun, and I happily snapped camel photo after camel photo.
So, did we ride a camel? I’m afraid not, although we would have, given the opportunity. So, I apologise if this book’s title is misleading. I suppose it should have been titled ‘Two Old Fools in Bahrain’. But it isn’t.
ۺۺۺ
Suddenly, it was the last week of term. We packed all our possessions into large cardboard boxes and shipped them back to Spain. It surprised me how much stuff we’d acquired during the year.
The Middle School students were supposed to sit an external exam, but the question papers were held up in Customs, much to their delight. The last day was a ‘Fun Day’, which was great fun for the students, not so much for the teachers.
On the last school day, I took a deep breath and gazed round my classroom. I was astonished at how fond I’d grown of my students. Cheeky Mohammed, Mustafa Kamel, Ahmed, silent Huda, Fatima, Khaled, Zainab, Ameena. I’d miss them all. Many had given me gifts that day. Little camels, chocolates and pretty candles. Somehow I’d have to squeeze them into my suitcase.
The final bell rang, and the class exploded out into the corridor, whooping with excitement. Escape! The school holidays had begun.
One child trailed behind. It was Huda. She raised her face to meet my eyes, the first time she’d ever looked at me directly. I’d never noticed what huge, beautiful brown eyes she had.
“Goodbye, Mees Vicky,” she whispered. “I’ll miss you.”
I opened my mouth, but it was my turn to be tongue-tied. By the time I’d collected myself, she’d run out of the classroom, and my life, for ever.
30. Home
‘Spanish Garlic Prawns with Paprika’
The students may have left but I still had work to do. I cleared my desk and threw away unclaimed assignments, broken pencils and all the other clutter that accumulates in teachers’ desk drawers. Some other teacher would be sitting at this desk in future.
I came across Huda’s homework exercise book and shook my head. Why had she handed in an empty exercise book every single week? I flicked through the pages, preparing to throw it into the rubbish bin.
To my astonishment, I found homework assignment after homework assignment. They were poorly written, and riddled with spelling mistakes, but they were all there, dating back from the beginning of the school year. Why hadn’t I seen them? I hadn’t seen them because Huda had written in the book in the Arabic way, from the back to the front. I’d opened it normally, and it had appeared empty to me.
Saying goodbye to Hawa was very hard. We hugged and I felt the soft chiffon of her hijab against my face.
“Thank you for everything,” I said tearfully. “You’ve been a wonderful friend.”
“You keep in touch!” she said. “You know where I am. I be here at ASS fo’ many year, you see!”
Mr. Brewster shook my hand. “Er...” he began, looking uncomfortable and staring over my shoulder at a point on the far wall. “I’m not very good at saying these things...but I’ve been very pleased with your work. I’m sorry to see you go.”
One last visit to Smokers’ Corner to see Joe and our friends and await Jasim with the bus. Yussef gave us an Egyptian key-chain, with tiny camels and pyramids hanging from it.
“Goodbye, my friends,” he said. “Enjoy your retirement in Spain, and think of us here at ASS next year.”
“And you enjoy your summer with your wife and triplets,” I said.
Saeed stood up and clasped Joe’s hand warmly with both of his.
“S-s-s...”
“Safe journey?” suggested Joe, smiling.
“No, s-s-s...”
“See you?” helped Colton.
“No, s-s-soccer s-s-season starts soon, Mr. Joe. I’ll be w-w-watching Liverpool and thinking of you.”
Essam was too upset to say anything. Joe kissed him, Arabic style, on each cheek and I shook his hand.
Rashida clopped round the corner. “Ah, good!” she said. “You still here! I want to catch you. I am going to mall now, to buy little dinner, but I have forget my purse. Please lend me 2BD.”
Joe handed her a 5BD note, which she snatched with grubby fingers.
“Goodbye, everyone,” we said, and walked away to punch our cards for the last time. “Colton, we’ll see you later at Bennigan’s.”
Amongst the many goodbyes, I heard Rashida’s voice cut through. “Colton, give me cigarette.”
So many goodbyes. Goodbye to Jasim, who smiled and flashed his gold teeth, before leaving us at the apartments and speeding away in the bus. Goodbye to Saja, Emily, Allison and Andrea, and all the others at the apartments. Warm hugs with Daryna.
“Keep in touch,” she said, and we have.
Then one last glorious, hilarious session at Bennigan’s with Jake and Colton. Of all the wonderful people we had met and would miss, those two friends were the hardest to leave.
Mahmoud, the taxi driver, took us to the airport. As usual, he told us sickening stories of what was still happening in Bahrain, stories that never reached the media. We listened silently, watching the familiar Bahraini scenery through the car windows.
We drove past the Pearl Roundabout, that stage of such violence, vast and naked without its monument. We passed soldiers, armoured vehicles, and checkpoints, although this time we were not stopped. Neither of us said a word to each other. Our thoughts were crowded with memories of the surreal year we had spent on this Middle Eastern island. This time tomorrow, we would be back in Spain.
ۺۺۺ
The plane began to descend. It was a cloudless day and I saw whitewashed villages, nestling in the mountains, loom larger. We reached the coastline, and the sea, dotted with ferries and boats. Then the runway opened in front of us and the plane landed with a bump at Almería airport.
Joe squeezed my hand and our eyes met. I read relief and excitement in his, and I’m sure mine expressed the same. Home!
Our Spanish taxi driver loaded our suitcases into the trunk.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“El Hoyo, please,” we said happily.
“¿Perdón? Where is that?”
It was no surprise that he didn’t know it. El Hoyo is tiny, and we were accustomed to having to give directions. The taxi driver looked dubious, but we set off along the motorway, then turned up into the mountains. Everything looked exactly as we’d left it, one year ago. I opened the window a crack, just to sniff the scented, familiar, mountain air.
Higher and higher we drove, into the mountains, passing pine woods and carpets of wildflowers. And then we crested a mountain and our familiar valley stretched below us, the cluster of houses that was El Hoyo, huddled at the bottom.
“Turn down this track, please,” said Joe.
The driver brought the taxi to a stop, and peered down the steep track.
“No,” he said. “I will leave you here. I do
not like to drive my taxi on bad roads.”
Joe was annoyed, but we had no choice. We unloaded and paid the driver, who turned and sped away.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Our cases aren’t heavy, and it’s all downhill. Thank goodness most of our stuff was sent on ahead. And we’ve got wheels on both our suitcases. We’ll enjoy the walk. We’ve been travelling for such a long time.”
Joe scratched himself, but reluctantly agreed. We set off down the track, avoiding potholes and fallen rocks as best as we could. Swallows swooped and swerved above us and bee-eaters crossed our path in a noisy chatter. A gentle breeze fluttered the almond and olive tree leaves.
All went well until one of Joe’s suitcase wheels came off.
“Now what?” he grumbled, trying to fix it, without success.
It was a Friday afternoon and we knew that, until the evening, few people would be in the village. But, as luck would have it, our knight in shining armour was around the next twist in the track. A small, stooped figure, leathery face shaded by a flat cap, rounded the bend, followed by, not a white steed, but a mule. Uncle Felix!
“¡Buenos días, Tío Felix!” we called, broad grins on our faces.
Uncle Felix touched the peak of his cap in greeting. He was a man of few words. He stopped, and his mule lovingly nuzzled his shoulder. We patted her, but as always, she only had eyes for her master.
Uncle Felix was a retired shepherd and had never been outside El Hoyo, apart from a brief spell as a young man, conscripted into Franco’s army. I’m sure he’d never heard of Bahrain, and we didn’t bother to tell him we’d just arrived home after a year spent working there.
Uncle Felix squinted at our suitcases, then indicated with a gnarled hand for Joe to lift them onto the mule’s broad back. He steadied the mule as Joe heaved the cases up.
The mule rattled her ears but didn’t flinch. So we began our strange procession down the track and into the village. First came Uncle Felix, followed by the mule, with Joe and I walking either side of her, balancing the suitcases on her sturdy back.
I recalled that this was the second time she’d rescued us, the first being when the Gin Twins and I had driven home one night in a storm, many years ago. A huge tree had fallen across the road and the mule had dragged it away, clearing our path.
“Thank you!” we said when we reached the village square and lifted the cases down.
Uncle Felix touched his cap again, and shuffled away, his mule close behind.
“Well, it’s not far n...” I started to say, but a shout stopped me in mid-sentence.
“You’re back!” said Marcia, hobbling out of her shop doorway.
She hadn’t changed a bit. Apart from a white apron, she was dressed in black, hairpins still dropping from her silvery hair. We hurried over, embraced, and exchanged kisses. She leaned on her stick, looking up at us.
“Are you back for good?” she asked. “How was Arabia?”
“Yes, we’re here to stay,” we answered, smiling. “Arabia was hard work. We’re very glad to be home.”
“I have many letters for you,” she said. “Many bills, and a letter from your daughter in Australia, and some postcards from different friends.”
Nothing went unnoticed in El Hoyo, and we were accustomed to having our mail scrutinised.
“Geronimo! Wake up!” she called. “The English are back!”
We turned. We hadn’t noticed the figure slumped on one of the benches in the square, shaded by a tree. It straightened and got to its feet.
“Welcome back!” said Geronimo, slipping his omnipresent beer bottle back into his pocket and walking over, the breeze stirring his long, curly hair. His three moth-eaten dogs, who’d been snoozing under the bench, ambled over and sniffed our hands and luggage. Geronimo clapped Joe on the back, and kissed me politely.
“How did you like Arabia?”
“We didn’t like it,” said Joe, and pulled a face. “How’s things with you?”
“Mal,” he said, shaking his head, as he always did. “Real Madrid is not playing well at the moment. They need to make a change in their team. Here, I will help you with your luggage.”
Within minutes, we were turning the key in the lock of our front door.
“Come in,” I said to Geronimo. “I don’t know what’s in the cupboards, but I’m sure we can find something to drink.” I wondered if we had any brandy, Geronimo’s favourite tipple.
“Thank you, no,” he said, turning on his heel and shooing the inquisitive dogs back out into the street. “I will see you later.”
The houses on either side of us stood quiet and empty. I imagined our neighbours, Paco and Carmen-Bethina, and the Ufartes, would arrive in the village later, for the weekend.
Our house was dark and cool and smelled musty. We flung open the living-room windows and made a tour, beginning in the garden. Outside the kitchen door, the grapevine was a thick thatch, the young grapes already forming. Paco’s horticultural interest, however, didn’t stretch to flowers, so the raised beds and pots were filled with dead plants. We ignored them, and went straight to the chicken-coop.
Only one poor, lonely, chicken remained.
“Oh dear,” I said sadly. “I guess the other girls didn’t make it. I think this one is Regalo. I recognise her beak.” Regalo had been thrown over our wall, and she had been the youngest of the bunch. “I’ll let her out into the garden, she can’t do any damage.”
“We’ll get her some friends once we’ve settled in.” said Joe.
Regalo marched out and started to scratch and peck at the weeds that had sprung up between the paving slabs. We left her to it, and explored the rest of the house.
Considering nobody had been there since the Gin Twins visited in October, the year before, the house wasn’t too bad. We switched on the electricity and I swept and dusted while Joe walked down to the garage to check on the car. He turned the ignition but the battery was as flat as the Bahraini desert.
“That’s a nuisance,” he said, when he returned. “We’ll have to wait for Paco. Can’t go down and buy any food until we get the car started.”
“I’m sure I can find something to eat. Tins, or whatever.”
We busied ourselves making up the bed, and sorting things out. The TV wouldn’t give us a picture, the dishwasher refused to work and we had no telephone or Internet. But we didn’t care. We knew we’d slowly regain normality. The main thing was, we were home!
A fist thumped on the front door.
“English!”
Paco and Carmen-Bethina had arrived. They’d heard from Marcia that we were back. Paco thrust two bottles of his homemade wine into our hands while Little Paco grinned shyly beside them. Little Paco’s voice was breaking and he’d shot up during the year we’d been away. Now he was taller than his mother. We all hugged, and talked at once.
“Bianca had eight puppies,” said Little Paco, proudly. “They all have new homes, except for one, which we are keeping.”
Paco said ruefully, “I am sorry about the chickens. They died, one by one, but I think they were old?”
“Yes, they were. We’re just grateful to you for looking after them while we were away. We still have Regalo and we’ll soon get a few more to keep her company. How is Sofía?”
Carmen-Bethina’s face dimpled into a broad smile. “She is still with her solicitor boyfriend.” She leaned forward and whispered loudly, “I think she may have found ‘The One!’”
“Pah!” yelled Paco, thumping his fist on the door frame. “That daughter of ours will never be satisfied! You wait, she’ll find something wrong with this one, too!”
Carmen-Bethina ignored her husband and looked at me. She smiled and winked. Maybe this time her prayers in church had been answered.
“Have you tried your car?” asked Paco, more comfortable with practical matters.
“It’s dead, I’m afraid,” said Joe.
“We will soon have that running,” said Paco, and marched Joe out of the door.
>
Carmen-Bethina and Little Paco departed and I carried on unpacking and loading the washing machine. Joe came back, a smile on his face.
“We got the car started. We can go shopping now.”
I looked at my watch. “Oh dear, it’s too late, the shops will be closed. Never mind, let’s take a bottle of Paco’s wine up onto the roof terrace, and sit up there for a while and watch the sunset. We can search for something for supper later.”
Joe didn’t need his arm twisted and we climbed the stairs, bottle and glasses in hand.
We watched the sky turn red and orange, and the Spanish sun sink slowly behind the mountain. An owl hooted, answered by another. The swallows faded away and were replaced by bats, swooping around the flickering street lights, snatching moths on the wing.
“I’ve been dreaming of this,” said Joe.
“I know, I almost have to pinch myself.”
“No more helicopters, just swallows and bats.”
At last, hunger drove us back down to the kitchen. I found a tin of baked beans and a packet of crackers. That would have to do. As I reached for the tin-opener, somebody knocked on our door. Little Paco stood on our doorstep.
“Veeky, Papa and Mama sent me to fetch you and Joe. We have dinner on the table, and Mama says there is plenty for everybody.”
I threw the beans back into the cupboard.
A few minutes later, we joined the family, including Uncle Felix and several cousins, round Paco’s table. Questions were fired at us. Did we see the troubles? Had we liked the Arabs? What was the school like? What did we have to wear? Were the children well-behaved? What was the food like? Were we going back?
Two young girls slipped into the house, dressed as American cheerleaders, and clutching the hand of a toddler, helping him climb the steep doorstep. They’d grown, but I recognised them at once. The Ufarte twins. And was this the baby we’d left behind? The baby born on Christmas Eve, the star of the Christmas procession?
Two Old Fools on a Camel: From Spain to Bahrain and Back Again Page 21
