My Dad is SO Arab: Rice

My father, being from the Middle East, loves rice. Some people are very familiar with the Arab's love affair with the food staple, and it's an odd love affair if you think about it. Rice is grown in tropical areas with heavy rainfall. Those are two geographical terms that do not apply to the Middle East. The Arab's love of rice is a fantastic example of cultural exchange. The Silk Road should have been called the Rice Road as far as the Middle East is concerned.

My family eats rice with every single meal. No joke. With the exception of the rare meal that Mom convinced Daddy to allow mashed potatoes instead of rice, we had a heaping platter of Basmati every night (and even on mashed potato nights, Daddy would still heat up a plate of leftover rice so he could have his choice of starch with his dinner). My dad loves rice so much that one time, when Mom made spaghetti, he made a pot of rice for himself and put the pasta sauce on that instead of noodles.

He's such a good Arab. Like my dad, Saudis also love them some rice.

Examples of Saudis' love affair with rice: 1. The national dish of Saudi Arabia is Kebsa. It's a rice-based dish with spices and a roasted or fried chicken on top (whole or half). Other variations include lamb and beef kebsa (as seen above).

2. When I went to a Saudi friend's house for lunch, her mom made magloubah, and Arabic rice-based dish with potatoes, eggplant, chicken and spices. I've asked this same friend to teach me how to cook an easy Saudi dish so I can make it for my family while the Mister and I are home this summer. I asked her if she could think of any dishes that didn't include rice. She was stumped.

3. Just about every meal you get at restaurants has rice as an option for the side dish.

4. The rice aisle in a grocery store at home consists of roughly 2 or 3 brands in small bags or boxes. The rice aisle in a Saudi grocery store starts at the front door, spans the entire width and

contains no less than 15 different brands and types of rice.

Examples of my dad's love affair with rice: One time the Mister and I came over for dinner and he was checking out what Daddy had decided was on the menu. He lifted the lid of the large stew pot and started laughing. He said he was surprised by the enormous amount of rice that was in the pot--there was no stew! That was the rice pot. There were only 5 of us having dinner that night. When we asked Daddy why he'd cooked to feed a small army he shrugged and said, "You know. Rice never goes bad. I'll eat the rest tomorrow."

One time my sister brought a college friend over for dinner. Like any meal, Daddy made a ridiculous amount of rice (there were 7 of us eating this time). As he proudly placed the gigantic platter of rice in the middle of the table, my sister's friend smiled, complimented the meal and cheerily said, "You know, I've never had rice before."

You would have thought she'd just told Daddy that she needed him to jump start her space ship. He stopped, his body stooped over his chair because he was in the middle of sitting down, looked around the table as if to check to make sure we'd all heard the words, jaw gaping open and said, "You're not serious."

She kind of giggled and explained that no, she'd never had rice before but she was very excited to try it. My dad was still in total disbelief.

"You mean you haven't had rice in a long time. Or you've never had this kind of rice?" Dad said, hoping to find some kind of logical explanation as to why this girl had been deprived to the pleasure of the starchy goodness.

"No. I mean maybe I have had rice and didn't know it..." my sister's friend trailed off, her face almost apologetic.

Well that just opened the floodgates. It was my dad's new mission to introduce this girl to the world's best food. He immediately grabbed her plate and started piling the rice on--spoonful after heaping spoonful. He kind of chuckled to himself maniacally as my sister and the rest of my family said, "Dad!! She might not like it! Don't put so much on her plate!"

Once again, my dad stopped dead in his tracks. He paused with the fourth or fifth portion of rice hanging over the plate. "Of course she's going to like it! You'll like it, won't you?"

Who could say no?

She did end up liking the rice and now proudly makes the side dish for her own family. I imagine that news brought a little tear to my rice-loving dad's eye.

Like a lot of my dad's quirks, I never knew that there are people in the world that didn't have rice more than one a month. It was such a normal part of my every day life that I thought not having rice with dinner was a special treat--like eating at a fancy restaurant or two scoops on your ice cream cone. It brings me a little comfort knowing that I'm now surrounded by people just like my father who are probably sitting down to a steaming plate of rice right this very minute.

Vicariously yours,

My Dad is SO Arab: He likes to have "a guy" for everything

As previously discussed, my father is from the Middle East. He's a true role model for a nomad like me. He up and left his family and his childhood home to marry the woman he loved and follow his dream in America. He has fully embraced the American life, becoming a naturalized citizen shortly before I was born and just after he finished building the house I grew up in. It was a big year for the world.

Also as previously discussed, despite being in the States for more than 3 decades, my dad has a few foreign quirks the he never got rid of. Being that he's my dad, I never really thought of them as strange habits until "outsiders" like my slumber party guests and boyfriends started saying, "Does your dad always act that weird?"

Kidding. Kinda.

Before the Mister and I moved to Saudi Arabia, I was sure I would wrestle with some serious homesickness, but instead I've found some familiarity among my Saudi neighbors: my Daddy's "weird" quirks!

Here's another example of how I know my dad is SO Arab: He likes to have "a guy" for EVERYTHING!

Examples of Saudis having "a guy": When we bought our car a few months after arriving, we immediately needed to get insurance (We will get in an accident one day, here are a few reasons why). When the Mister asked around about where to get insurance, the immediate response from his colleagues was, "Oh I have a guy. I'll call him for you."

Two days later, we were fully insured. Apparently if we'd gone about it the old fashioned way (read: contacting a business based on its advertising), we would still be waiting for insurance. Dropping the name of the guy that knows the guy gets you places in Saudi!

Wednesdays are filafel day at work. One of the guidance counselors goes around and takes requests for the yummy fried wheat goodness. I decided I wanted to get in on that action, so I ponied up the cash and literally about 10 minutes later, a warm filafel was in my hand (we don't have a cafeteria, so we had to order for delivery). "WOW! That was really fast! How'd you do that?"

"I have a filafel guy."

I wasn't quite sure what to do with that information, but I certainly wasn't complaining.

Another time I mentioned that I needed to get a shirt tailored.

"Oh! Give me your number, I'll text you the number and address for my guy!"

The Mister's co-workers have a shawarma guy, a car guy, a grocery guy, a hair guy, even a guy who will come and clean the courtyard when the tiles get dusty. Saudis will even go so far as to go to a regular old store, but only speak to the employee with whom they have conducted business in the past. "No, I don't need help. I need to talk to my guy."

Examples of my father having "a guy": My dad has a car guy. I'm not sure when Daddy started patronizing his car guy, but his fidelity to this little independent garage located in the basement of an antique store in the town where I grew up is unwavering.

Daddy loves being on a first name basis with anyone, so he makes sure to frequent the same bank branch for years on end. He'll drive all the way across town just to go to his bank guy, even if there's a branch closer to where he is.

One time when I was a kid, we were on family vacation somewhere, and we were lost. Mom really wanted to pull over at a gas station and ask directions or something, but Daddy had another plan. He honked the horn and indicated for the guy in the pick-up truck next to us to roll down his window. Traffic was moving again, but Daddy yelled out his request for directions to the nearest Interstate entrance ramp.

Even though we went past a sign indicating that the interstate we were looking for was to the right, Daddy kept straight and stayed close to the guy's bumper. "What are you doing? The interstate's that way!" my flustered mom called out.

Daddy sucked his teeth, "Wait! We're going to follow my guy! He's going to take us there." In the course of 2.5 minutes, my dad had found a guy.

Thankfully that guy didn't lead us to the woods and kill us all.

You can't teach an old dog new tricks, and my dad--like any good Arab--loves his shawarma. Like our Saudi friends, my dad has found a shawarma guy at home (they're called gyros at home, but "gyro guy" just sounds creepy). I think he enjoys the Arabic conversation with the Iraqi owner more than the food itself, but Daddy makes sure to frequent his shawarma guy regularly.

His Arab fondness for having a guy for everything, though hilarious at times, does have one variation from the Saudi habit. In my opinion, Saudis have a guy for three reasons: 1). they like to network, 2). they like to feel powerful 3). they're a little lazy. As long as Saudis have a guy, they don't have to go to the effort of looking up the part number they need or having to describe the kind of hair cut they want.

With my dad, however, it's kind of like the old show "Cheers." You can't tell me Norm didn't like having his name called out as soon as he walked through the door. Daddy definitely loves having familiar faces greet him with a smile. He also is just a friendly guy. He likes being your guy, and he often finds his guys by being their guy in the first place.

Vicariously yours,

My Dad is SO Arab: The Jimmy Rig

For those who don't know me personally, my father is Arabic. He was born and raised in Iraq and moved to the USA permanently shortly before marrying my mother in the '70s. He is now a full-blown American citizen with no intentions of moving back to the Middle East. He's so American, he didn't even bother to teach my siblings and me Arabic growing up...for various reasons.

Thanks for that, Dad. (kidding. kinda.)

Anyway, throughout my childhood, I never thought of my dad as a foreigner. (I still don't think he has an Arabic accent, though the Mister disagrees with me on that.) I just thought he had funny quirks. I was never really all that embarrassed by my dad, I just kind of laughed it off. But now that I'm just a border away from his homeland and among his "cousins," I realize more and more that my dad's quirks aren't unique to him! He's got more in common with his cousins than I ever realized!

Allow me to explain one way I know my dad is Arab:

He loves the "jimmy rig." I'm not sure if this term was coined by Southerners, but Arabs have the market cornered on the jimmy rig. The jimmy rig, according to UrbanDictionary.com is defined as, "[fixing] something regardless of how it looks or how long it lasts. Using any materials that are available in a creative way to make something work."

Examples of the jimmy rig in Saudi Arabia: Did the leg of your sofa break? ...LOOK! I found half of a cinder block and a bit of a phone book! Just stick those under that bad boy and voila! Problem fixed. No need to buy a new chair.

*Speaking of cinder blocks: When a new house is being constructed, it's generally made entirely out of cinder blocks and concrete. BUT, instead of planning ahead and making sturdy openings for the pipes and other things that can easily be retro-fitted into a timber house, Saudi construction workers just cut a path through the blocks and concrete, stick the pipe/wiring in, and put brick fragments in the opening. It'll have a few layers of stucco on it eventually, so what does it matter?

*I found out the other day that if you own property in Saudi, you have to build a wall around it. So all houses have walls along the property lines. This also comes in handy for those families that like to keep their women hidden. The Saudis are a very private people. The only problem is, when the neighbors start building their house next door, and their top windows can peek over your privacy wall, you've got to make your wall taller. WHO COULD HAVE SEEN THIS PROBLEM COMING?! So what do the Saudis do? Certainly not extend their wall on all sides with building materials similar to what they already have used! That would be expensive, I'm sure. No, Saudis rig up a wall extension made of sheet metal and poles that are no where near the same color as the original walls. AND they only extend the wall closest to the offending neighbors' house.

*Thanks to the immense American presence here, just about all Saudi buildings have both 110 and 220 volt wiring. Only trouble is, the plugs look the same no matter the voltage. Hmm...there's got to be some way to indicate which plug is attached to which voltage...

(Masking tape and ink pen. There is no other solution.)

*Did you get into a fender bender and now your bumper is kind of hanging off? Well, I've got some clear packing tape and some sturdy cardboard. And this won't be a temporary fix. Nah, we'll leave that on there permanently...or until you get into another wreck.

Examples of the jimmy rigs from my father: When I was in college, I rear-ended somebody coming home from the beach. I took the car to the garage my insurance recommended and two weeks later I had a whole new front end. I was going on a road trip immediately after I got the car from the garage and, I kid you not, 2 hours down the road, my front left tire blew, knocking my fresh new bumper half off. I. was. PISSED.

I was going to need a new bumper, and this was going to make my insurance go up. But instead, my father used a wire coat hanger to stop my bumper from flapping. Anytime I got over 60 miles an hour it would sound like I was coming under heavy fire in 'Nam, and if you looked at it from the wrong angle you could see the wire ends sticking out from under the wheel well...but hey! Free fix!

*I needed a set of mailboxes for my classroom at home. You know the ones. They're basically slots that are large enough for a stack of 8.5x11'' paper to go into. Those suckers are expensive! I mentioned this conundrum to my dad and he sprang to action! He owns a flooring business, so he had a fair amount of scrap hardwood planks lying around. He rigged up a great set of 90 mail slots. Some were wider than others, and there were a lot of random nails sticking out, but I'll be darned if those bad boys weren't the envy of the other teachers on my hall.

(No seriously. Everyone fought over the mailboxes on the left when I announced I was leaving my old school. Notice the jimmy rigged piece of butcher paper I hot-glued over the rows of slots that weren't being used except as trash receptacles by my angels at home. It's hereditary, apparently.)

The most hilarious part of this jimmy rig though, was the WEIGHT! Hardwood is called hardwood for a reason. It's dense! I would estimate that these mailboxes weighed about 100 pounds. One time I needed some help moving them from one side of my classroom to the other, so my brother came to help. We couldn't get all the way across the room without laughing at the struggle we were having and the mental picture of our father stepping back like Michelangelo from the Pieta and admiring his two-ton work.

*My dad is a gardener. It's his zen. And nothing interrupts his zen and sends him into a rage like intruders into his garden. They make lots of things to ward off groundhogs, deer, rabbits and other agricultural raiders, but why spend your money on all that mess when you can rig up a scarecrow like THIS:

(Most people would use an "old shirt" and a "worn out" pair of jeans...but those are two terms that don't enter my dad's vocabulary. Bed sheets. Now THOSE can be sacrificed to the garden gods.)

This scarecrow is next to a shed my dad built himself out of some plywood and aluminum roofing sheets. It's not all that bad of a shed, and Daddy wanted to preserve the wood against rot, so he needed to paint it. Paint's expensive, but never fear! Daddy had a fix for that! A few years back we'd remodeled the house so we had some leftover paint. None of the half-filled cans of paint contained the same color, but dump them all together and you had a 3 gallon bucket of a convincing lavender/puce color. Yeah. That'll work. Slap it on.

There are SOO many more examples of my father's jimmy rigs: the wood blocks that serve as wall mounts for the surround sound in the living room, the scrap wood closet shelves, the home-made slingshot used to ward off squirrels from the bird feeder. More than I can list.

I poke fun, but I do love my father. His little Arab quirks have become more obvious to me since I've moved here, and there will be more entries like this to come, I'm sure. But at the end of the day, all these reminders of my father just make this place feel ever-so-slightly like home.

Vicariously yours,