Short story

A Day out in the Kuwait Streets

            Looking from the top of the five-star hotel, Majid was not only amazed by the beautiful expanse of the ultra-modern city whose buildings seemed to have been constructed at the same time but also marveled at the way the people adorned red clothing walking along the well-manicured pedestrians' paths beside the asphalt roads and highways. He remembered the history of Kuwait City: it was razed to the ground in the 1950s and was consequently planned afresh to denote the rapidly growing urban city as a result of the country's inexhaustible petroleum wells. The buildings' designers seemed to have come from the same school of thought because the minarets of the mosques and other espoused architectural designs indicated a certain commonality.

Camels patronized the city streets below Majid’s eyes as if in constant competition with the sleek cars that announced the luxuriant life of this oil-rich Arabian country. A line of dhows that were magnificent from his viewpoint dotted the blue shining coastline of the turquoise sea to his far left, and to the far end, the heavy machinery of cranes that announced the busy seaport. He could smell the fresh and rather fermented oil from sharks used on the dhows in addition to the fresh fish smell, which also drifted to his nostrils from the fish market just on the shores. All manner of sounds emanated from the seafront; from waves pounding the coastline to jingling bells hung on camels' and donkeys' necks. The beach boys’ yells to lure tourists to what they were selling seemed to offer accompaniment to the natural sounds which now were music to Majid’s ears. The morning's warm and cool nourishing sun heightened Majid’s senses to the sounds on the beach before his eyes, the mono-color that dominated the town, and the now monotonous fish smell that seemed to become more vivid.

He remembered his meeting with Hawthorne. Glancing at his wristwatch - 8:45 am it was. He would meet him at 9:30 am and therefore he had plenty of time to while away before he rushed to Mr. Hawthorne's office to discuss what they had termed as classified information. Majid had this habit of rising quite early for sightseeing sprees whenever he traveled to a new city, and more so after performing his morning prayers. This mission had offered him the opportunity to visit Kuwait after he had only heard glorious stories from news and friends who had visited it. He relished the thought of coming to Kuwait and he had learned a lot concerning its climate, architecture, culture, and the religious belief of the Kuwaitis online. 

With a feeling of pride inside him, Majid walked from the scintillating balcony view to his hotel room where he changed into loose-fitting thobe and sunglasses. Feeling ready to tackle the events of the day, he hurriedly set off for the meeting since he was time conscious. If he were to be rated among the world's most punctual men, his name would be among the top ten or so, he thought, a smile forming on his lips.

“Salaam Alekum,” greeted Mr. Hawthorne after Majid was ushered in by his secretary.

“Alekum Salaam,” replied Majid smiling to reveal his white big teeth.

“Welcome to my office Mr. Majid. How was your night?” said Mr. Hawthorne as he gestured to him to an empty seat.

“Fine. Thank you.”

“Hope you don’t mind going for a cup of coffee as we get the heads-up”

“Not at all. I would very much love coffee,” answered Majid.

“Coffee is the only drink people have to contend with because they have outlawed anything that has alcohol content in it being sold in this city,” volunteered Hawthorne.

Hawthorne and Majid laughed at this. After chit-chatting for some time, both Hawthorne and Majid left the office for the cafe around the corner next to his office.

Hawthorne remembered very well how he had met Majid at the airport a few days ago. He had been sent by the American intelligence service to help him in his secret mission to collect intelligence reports on the neighboring country, Iran. Since the Iranian government had been very strict on the foreigners entering its borders, the only remaining option was to spy on Iran from Kuwait, sometimes going to the border for close scrutiny and reconnaissance. As they sat down on the farthest table on the veranda of the roadside café, Hawthorne could not help noticing the beauty of this city.

“Did you know I like this city because the culture of Kuwaitis is quite conservative aligning with their morals and ethics such that you can not find prostitutes and call girls, who to some extent, entice men in other societies," intoned Mr. Hawthorne.

“I agree with you on this. In many cities, especially coastal towns across the world, you will find people walking almost naked but not in this country. I actually envy them. With these moral principles exercised strictly in the society as is the case in this country, people indeed could pleasure principles.” Majid said laughing.

As Hawthorne and Majid let this thought sink, they observed the women walking on the streets nearby covered from their heads to toes in black lobes despite the boiling temperatures. Not that they did not feel the heat but because they were accustomed. Mr. Hawthorne remembered with mirth the spectacle one would find upon reaching the beaches of his hometown of Florida. Women in bikinis sunbathing for skin tan, men in their under-wears stealing their wives' sun lotions for a protective layer, newlywed lovers passionately drowning themselves in kisses, while children dash here and there mountings sand, oblivious of the almost naked adults everywhere. 

'Here is different' he thought to himself.

“Do you know why many people here wear red clothes?” Majid interrupted Hawthorne's thoughts.

“No. Why don’t they choose another color? This red is quite annoying and offending to the eye,” replied Hawthorne amused with this new observation, which he had never noticed before.

“Red is a color that Kuwaitis adore for it is believed to bring prosperity and joy,” informed Majid. “I was informed the other day by this old man who told me a lot about Kuwait. Their artifacts, weavings, and buildings are painted with or dyed in red, which signifies the plainness of their lives and aspirations rather than the aspect of extravagance.”

            “You have indeed learned a lot within the few days you have been here. Hope you will take me around and act as my translator since my language is very poor. I never intermingle well with the locals because they negatively view me as white and my language put them off. You are like one of them.”

            “The other day I witnessed some horrible incident,” Majid volunteered in. “A man was lynched to death through stoning right before me."

            "Wow, that's inhumane," said Hawthorne shock evident on his face.

            "When I inquired what he had done, one of the spectators told me he was caught committing adultery. This is a very serious crime punishable through stoning.”

            “That’s so gross. Does the government allow mob justice of some sort?” asked Hawthorne with a worried look.

            “Of course. How else would you expect such disciplines to come by?” Majid answered pointing to men passing in the streets. 

            “Total obedience to authority is quite a norm in this country. Breaking rules will cost your life so be on the safe side and be a good boy,” added Majid. 

            They all laughed at that.

            A light explosion was heard several meters from where they were seated. As they could observe every detail of the scene, a camel lay dead on the streets. People gathered around and after one of the men had kneeled down next to the camel, raising his hands in supplication. He then stood up, and with the knife in his right hand, he cut the camel’s neck, an indication that he was a professional butcher. blood oozed out and painted the earth red, further blending with the surrounding color of red. Other people spectating, as if given the cue, started to cut the meat to their fill until the last piece and bone. Dogs scavenged the remaining pieces and licked the ground to finalize the feast. Such was a day out in the City of Kuwait.

            As Hawthorne and Majid sipped the coffee, the sweet aroma of this crop may be from the highlands of Kenya or Ethiopia drifting to their noses, they revisited their plan. They would set off at nightfall to transverse the desert land to the border until they sneaked through all the checks at the border. They knew it was tedious and dangerous too, but they admitted it had to be done. Iran’s guards were known for their vicious punishment once they caught spies, but Hawthorne and Majid had their entire map covered having established an inner informer. They parted ways from the café to get prepared for this mission to help save the world because the location of Iran’s nuclear production sites had to be identified for destruction.