The Whipping Turn

Saudi Arabia - The guide

In the end, it was several days until a new English translator was procured and meanwhile, Anya found herself forced into role of tour guide. She took the English men through the basics of old fortress, chaperoned closely of course but generally left to her own stories that she had garnered over the years, which was really mostly from relaxed conversations with Mohammed. The white men seemed to enjoy the stories, they asked lots of questions and made jokes often.

Anya worn a niqab along with her hijab, which meant only her kohled green eyes were visible, helpfully hiding her bruises and the inevitable questions. However, she found the men, somewhat intensely, watching her usually distant eyes for reactions and she worried that if she was too cold, too removed, they wouldn't understand her or wouldn't enjoy their time. She liked them, so while trying to focus on her stories, her English articles, (what are complete pain they are) she worked on giving a small smile in her eyes.

On the third day, they were bundled into one of the beautifully airconditioned Mercedes cars, to drive a few hours to a rural area. The doctor was to meet some locals there to better understand local medicinal practices. Anya had complained bitterly to Alina and Jida about her new responsibility, as they took tea, the evening before.

"He's setting me up. I'm going to do everything I'm told to and in the process, commit some sort of terrible act and be punished for it."

"It's not Ibrahim's decision, Anya. He doesn't have anything to do with it. There's no-one else that can do this. No-one trusted in the family." Jida tried to be reassuring which Anya didn't buy.

"I'm not trusted, Jida." She spat the word.

The older woman sighed and leant over to tuck an escaped lock of hair back under Anya's headscarf.
"Maybe trust isn't the right word. They know you won't do or say anything stupid."

"Because we all know I'll be punished for it?"

This time Jida paused, her eyes to the ceiling, trying to find the words. Eventually she gave up, shrugged and looked at Anya. "Yes, that's probably about right."

Anya had sighed heavily, annoyed. There was probably no point even discussing this. A waste of breath. Nothing was going to change.

Perhaps a road trip would be an actual nice change. It's been a long time since I've been outside this place.

Not really convincing herself but resigned to tomorrow's plans, Anya had settled back on the chair cradling her cooling tea in her hands, while Jida and Alina swapped gossip from within ranks of the unmarried women. It was easier than her own personal politics and Anya enjoyed the stories of quiet rebellion, cleverly covered from the men.

So while Anya sat in the back, quietly waiting for the driver and quietly stewing over her current predicament, she realised she was, as always, going to just have to get on with this. She tuned out of her head and into the conversation between the two foreigners. Rick, the son, sat in the backseat with Jenna, while Doctor Edward took the front seat. Father and Son were discussing something to do with football or some sport but Anya struggled to follow their fast English. Despite her covered face, Edward turned in his seat to look back at her and Anya realised she must have been looking back and forth.

He gave her a smile, "Apologies Anya, we are being very rude."

She waved her hand, "No, not at all. I, um, should not listen to your conversation. I forget to stop."

"Of course, don't be sorry for learning. You have been improving every day. You're good at this, Anya."

She couldn't help but give a rare true smile. It was a shame he couldn't see her mouth but she knew it easily reached her eyes as he gave a big grin back.