ust about to drift into doze off when the nearby mu’athin announced the dawnprayer, calling all faithful Muslims to their morning religious duty. Trying to turn over andsleep after an exhausting trip, I found my efforts compromised by the piercing brightdesert sun that now edged over the horizon. Rousing myself from bed, I readied myself forthe coming day, planing and imagining what each successive day would bring. Reintroducing myself to familiar sights, I noticed the same young boys from somany years ago playing soccer in the street. In fact, young boys playing that favorite sportin all the streets and parks. Their odd make-shift playing fields reminded me of when Iused to play in those very same sites. There was also the neighborhood mosque I used toattend while living there, where everyone in the community would come to gather andsocialize. However, as I passed through the marble arches and ebony doors, the samebuilding seemed more impressive, more majestic... it was like I was lost in time. Absolutlynothing had changed about the mosque. The same high arches and wall engravings bearingpassages of the Quran still shone as brightly as I remembered, and everyone I passed stillgreeted me with “salaam”, an Arabic word meaning “peace”. There were also old sights tobehold which I had never been introduced to. The old abandoned quarter in the city ofHofuf, with its old mud brick houses and dirt roads, was the scene of a historical battlebetween the Saudis of Arabia and the Turks from the Ottoman Empire, a battle won by mygreat grandfather who overcame the Turkish fort and reconquered it in the name of thehouse of Saud. Today, the fort stands in between the old and modern sections of the city,and the road running across the bastion bears the name of my great grandfather. Silently itlooks over the city, almost hovering, connecting the past and present, as it still guards itsancient post. Many sights, both new and...
