Athriya's Anthem
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Author: John Etheridge
Released 11 June 2005
Camel Ride
Photograph by Aramco ExPats
One evening during our study tour of Saudi Arabia, we twenty American educators were taken to a ranch outside Riyadh for dinner. What was supposed to be a ranch seemed to me to be a castle. "It's only a replica of what Saudi Arabian fortresses once were," remarked Aramco's guide. Lined up in front of the entrance and along the wall were men on camels and horses, outfitted as though we had stepped back in time at least one hundred years. The moment was sacred but short.
The bus came alive. "We get to ride camels. I want to ride a horse. Take the picture. Get off the bus." So, the camels and horses were ridden and photographed. An unnecessary, well-staffed ambulance remained close by, motor running. After all the activity of human and animal and digital camera, we were given a tour behind the walls.
Questions and answers bounced off truly beautiful furnishings. I had always been told to take off my shoes when walking on fine carpets or in places of reverence. But, no one else did, so I didn't. There was little time to respect and to admire those whom Al-Athriya represented. Any reflection longer than a few seconds was met with "Hurry. Wait. This way, please. Take my picture here. You're blocking my shot."
Kapsa
Photograph by Aramco ExPats
Walls have ears, we know. Walls can speak, I know. After another sumptuous feast, while I was walking alone through the rooms through which we had been guided earlier, I could almost hear the voices from the earth that formed the walls. . . .
. . ."We represent the children, the women, and the men who struggled and sacrificed to create Saudi Arabia. Does anyone remember us? We are not immortalized in verse or photo or monument, but we were here. Does it matter to anyone that we even existed? Must we remain figments of the imagination of old people? Presidents and potentates have been here, but they did not notice us. You have come to ride camels and to eat food you and we never heard of. But, we merit scarcely a thought. What became of our cause? Did we win?"
. . ."Your artists sing songs and recite poetry about building bridges instead of walls. But, we see and hear about the bridges carrying tanks and soldiers and war and hatred. Our walls protect. Perhaps if you took refuge behind more walls, you could listen and learn. Ignorance breeds fear. And fear, when it is full-grown, is terror."
Then, as quietly as they had begun, the voices of Al-Athriya faded, smothered by the voices of the present: "Where's the restroom? Will there ever be time for serious shopping? Group photo."