Notes from the Bahrain International Airport

 Here I am, sitting in the prayer room of the international wing of the Bahrain Airport, in a room of sleeping ladies, a group of Iraqi women who are obviously villagers by the cotton print dresses they wear under their chadors and make-shift cotton belts. They were all covered with their black chadors that covered their snoring bodies. There are about 20 of them, all joining in a great snoring chorus, their bodies heaving on the red prayer carpet. Slowly, one by one, the women woke up, waking up their friends in their loud and coarse Arabic. And then the strangest thing I ever saw – one old woman took out a cigarette and lit up right in the masjid and just smoked away until others complained in indignation. And even stranger, the group of women were on their way to Makkah for Umrah!

Outside, every gate is full of nationals from various countries who have some sort of connection with the Gulf or who are transiting through, like I was. The Bengalis heading to Dhaka, small dark men wearing prayer caps who look exhausted and relieved to leave the Gulf, sit quietly, staring at the passersby. The Filipinos heading to Manila look like a lively bunch, talking loudly and excitedly. The Egyptians heading to Cairo are a mixed bunch, some show influence of having imbibed Gulf-style Islam in their clothing, others wear typical Egyptian clothes, women wear the standard hijab and abaya (or long, flowing robe) and many of the men wear gallabayas. The Gulf Arabs, in their long, starched and ironed white robes flow along the halls, the only way to distinguish between various nationalities is by the way they tie their kufiyas or the kind of scarves they wear. Gulf women wear fabulously expensive and glamorous jilbabs, black robes with crystals encrusted along the sleeves and front, red ruffles lining the front and back, and long, pointy high heels to match their luxurious clothing. A group of men and women from who-knows-where are dressed for Umrah, the men wear white ihram, or white terry-cloth for their pilgrimage to Makkah.

Wandering around the airport, you never know what language to speak, next to me, there’s a woman who looks Iranian in her long black chador, I’ll try Persian with her. One of the transfer agents looks South Asian, guess that means I’ll have to speak English with him, and the ticket agent looks like some sort of Arab, so I’ll try Arabic with him and see how that goes. This airport seems like some kind of Muslim United Nations, I must admit, I love people watching, and this is a great place to do it. Seven hours in the airport is a long time, inshallah, I’ll be able to amuse myself during this time…then on to Umm al-Dunya, Egypt, for a couple of days!