Second Hand Souk

Thursday (first day of Riyadh weekend) dawned with full sun. Berny, teacher-candidate from Oregon via China and other places East, told me to bring water and Shareem would pick me up at 8:45 a.m. “before it got hot” for the Second Hand Souk. Visions of bargains lit up behind my eyes: Doane’s in Fredonia, KS, with nice furniture up front and increasingly dusty stuff poking at you on a walk into darkening treasures. An entire drive-in parking lot outside KC, MO, where I got $300 for a computer/tower/dikettes/printer off the back of our old green truck. Endless garage sales in several states where I’d enjoyed Dad’s haggling genes in action.  Shareem rang the outside buzzer, I grabbed my abaya and already felt sun on my neck as I climbed in the back of his van. I made a mental note to buy sun screen. We picked up Berny at her apartment and drove through Riyadh’s high-end shopping centers and silver skyscrapers, then green plant souks, then food souks with thobe-wearing melon venders standing beside battered trucks next to our traffic buzz. Shareen avoided three near-accidents by testosterone-driven cars and one huge road grader. If you’re bigger or faster, it appeared you don’t have to stop.

“There it is!” Berny pointed to to wares spread on the street and blocks of appliances, furniture, clothing, dishes, carpets, linoleum, shoes, pictures, pitchers, you name it! There was one small vending trailer selling spicy foods and restrooms, with hospital supplies for sale in front of it. By the time we’d walked two city blocks in full sun and finished our water bottles, I thought how I’d welcome a wheelchair parked in nonexistent shade. I bartered for a silver pitcher with a long pouring spout. Berny suggested that we go where she had gotten “an interview skirt” for 2 SARs (Saudi Arabian riyal=.25USD). Miles of evening dresses in every bright color and texture (mostly filmy over satin), abayas with and without bling trim, and clothing for the rest of the family–it hung and lay endlessly under tin sheds with rounded tops. Egyptian and Pakistani men intoned, “Welcome sister!” and hoped to sell items they priced at twice what they expected me to pay. If Halloween, I’d have easily found costumes for the entire Plains Women’s Club to go Trick or Treating. An hour was enough for me. I retreated to a carpet vender’s stall with a swamp cooler grinding away on the linoleumed floor. My blue plastic chair was covered with furry carpet; Berny went back for small etched-glass cups for Saudi coffee and I watched six pieces of floor covering, measured and heaved into the back of SUVs, leave the prosperous shop. “Hello sister! You America? You go Egypt?” I felt welcome and entertained. Home, I looked at my contrasting villa kitchen, washed my two silver pitchers, and wondered what I’d do with the extra one. Oh well, I got them both for 35 SAR when they started at 60!