While looking for something to post for this weeks throwback, I ran across this photo I took when I lived in Qassim. I hadn’t thought about my life in Qassim for a long time, but something about this photo brought back so many memories. Suddenly I remembered the crosswalks to get from the mall where the bus dropped us off to the ladies market. I remember the time I bought an abaya there with a bit of brown on it, and how I was a bit worried that I would get in trouble with the Ha’ia because it wasn’t completely black. I remembered all the trips I took with my friends, walking around outside, buying makeup and traditional dresses together. I remembered this little shawarma place that only offered take away food and how they put cucumbers on their sandwiches and how I would show them a photo of a cucumber on my phone and say “la, la, maaaafi hada okay?” because I don’t know any other way to tell them that I am allergic to cucumbers so please don’t put any.
Sometimes when I think back on my time in Qassim, all I can think is struggle. It was really hard being there, alone, not speaking the language. Even so, I would never trade the memories I have for anything.