Faleh told me at a weekend expat party, “I will take you to Diriyah” after Nasir told us we should go see it. “Actually there is not much there, just an old city.” That was enough to pique my curiosity. Berny and I didn’t plan on the coming of a sandstorm that grew worse the following day. The Saudi flag flew, muted green
above the restored walls. We could barely see the opposite walls around the 13 km perimeter. I wondered how Al Irdh became what the Brits called “a sand-blown Pompei” when the original inhabitants left after 1818. We snapped pictures of restored mud-and-stone walls and doorways and made our way down into the date palms. It was inching toward June’s 42.9 Centigrade (109.2 Farenheit) temperature, so abayas were soaking up the sun, even with sand-filled air. 
I thought of when principal tribes lived here at the dawn of Islam. Diriyah was one of a string of towns and villages along Wadi Hanifa, which wanders its low way through Riyadh between my villa and “the DQ” (Diplomatic Quarters, where embassies are found) and on 120 km south. It is said that prehistoric rains once fed fertile farms here, then God sent locusts and Diriyah never recovered from the climate change that followed. The eroded cliff gave evidence that it suffers from flash floods,
although 2.4 inches of rainfall each year doesn’t seem like it could flood much. In 1982, engineers began channeling 650,000 cubic feet of water to run-off streams. Riyadh also pumps a portion back for its few public gardens and parks.
Saudi Arabia also uses this water to run one of its largest oil refineries. The plan to preserve Diriyah cost $100 US equivalency, quarrying and planting reeds plus purifying treated and untreated sewage (for which it won an Award for Agriculture). From the top, the date palm plantings looked
lush and green, even filtered through sand. Faleh tried speaking with workmen, men relaxing along the street, guards at the old ruins, and museum officials. It wasn’t safe to go into the construction zone, the project’s 
English versions weren’t ready, and we were permitted to walk around a photographic display and detailed model of the project. No explanation was given for the images on the mural on the outside museum walls. What part did the gun play? We went around a bus aptly named “My Car” and decided we’d like to go the length of Wadi Hanifa on a weekend day. Faleh’s worn sedan hadn’t yet been in a wreck, 
although he’d had it six years. We told him that was a record in Riyadh. Stomachs growled, and we drove cloverleafs and backroads to Al Khozuma compound, the companion to my 8-villa one, for dinner. TV news in Arabic was the only other conversation in a restaurant overlooking the pool. Syria was mentioned often. Faleh’s bright brown eyes flashed pleasure as we treated him to appetizers and dinner. “My compound family and friends won’t believe when I tell them I’m here with two Western women as a Saudi man!” (You actually hear, “Abayas not allowed in the compound, ma’am” in here. We gladly complied.) Later, Faleh’s eyes flashed again as he told us he’d finished at an area hospital and planned to go to the UK for his master’s degree. We were about ready to leave when he burst out, “I hate politicians!” Thobe-clad leaders were making more statements about Syria. “They talk and talk. That’s all. Just talk!” He told us he knew several Syrian people who knew what had happened to women and children, indicating decapitation, because of Shi’ite belief that they will go to heaven if they kill Sunis. He maintained that Sunis accepted all religions and how afraid he was that America and the rest of the world would judge Muslims by barbaric acts of a few. He knew which countries were predominantly Shi’ite and pointed out that the unfortunate, poorer ones were often Suni majority populations. It was a grim finale to a trip back in time and my first glimpse inside an educated mind that tried to weigh information apart from propaganda. I hope we get mutual time to drive the length of greening Wadi Hanifa, see a few lakes, and hear more of Faleh’s reports from the streets in Riyadh. His sweet nature, non-assertive approach to guiding us, and passion for the oppressed made an impression I’ll not soon forget.
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