The humidity has just begun to settle down on a foggy Kuwaiti Wednesday evening. It was 8:22pm. Hatem and Noura arrived at the restaurant casually late. Well, in fact, they arrived on time, but
as always, the
broken record of the discussion that always takes place when they are going out with another couple ensued. As they sat in the parked BMW 7.40 in the parking lot in front of
Gaucho Grill (1), Noura said with feigned authority
“La tefashelni hal marra … please pick up the tab!” (2) Her words fell on deaf ears, for as much as Noura spoke to Hatem about Kuwaiti etiquette and the art of hospitality in Arab culture, he would not be convinced that his propriety and indeed his masculinity would be judged on how much he pays for free meals to feed his wife’s goddamn friends. Hatem, like Noura, is a Western-educated intellectual and a staunch believer in equal human rights for everyone, including the right of the man to demand equal financial participation of his spouse in the relationship. Unlike Noura, however, he is quite creative at using “human rights” and “equality of all mankind” to justify his refusal to pay for anything that does not benefit him personally. If that embarrasses her, fuck it, she should know better than to settle for someone so “broadminded” if all she wanted was a TK (3) guy to pay for everything.
Noura, the quintessential Kuwaiti bourgeoisie, was raised in a household where “Daddy” was the generous financial provider (judging for her expensive private schools, her penthouse apartment in Boston where she finished college, and the Porsche Cayenne she received as a graduation present for finishing her MBA at the INSEAD [4]), and “Mommy” was the nurturing homemaker. Not wanting to be a homemaker herself (because God forbid that she allows herself to be shackled by the chains of Arab patriarchy), she pursued multiple degrees, an impressive financial career and the man of her dreams. Noura always mused herself on how Hatem, named after Hatem Al-Taei, the most generous character in Arab heritage, had no traits of Arabs whatsoever. She prided herself on this “broadminded” GEM that she has found and kept for herself, for the intellectual conversations she shared with her partner, for his loving words that caressed her ears as erotically as his hands caressed her nether regions. She just wished he would provide for her financially, not because she needed it, but because she wanted to be “taken care of by her man.” As much as Noura criticized Arab chauvinism, Arab racism, Arab Islamism, she nonetheless was a proud Arab woman at heart and wanted Hatem to be her Arab knight. She believed that despite their myriad of faults, Arab men could not be rivaled in their warmth and generosity. After all, Noura was a descendant of a people who roamed the arid deserts looking for food, and but still shared their minimal wealth with guests and strangers. She was a descendant of those who gave meat to the poor in celebration of the birth of a new child. She was a descendant of those whose homes are as open as their hearts. Generosity is within their upbringing as much as it is within their wallets, and Noura, for all the “broadmindedness” that she claims she has, could not accept how Hatem does not endorse the most beautiful trait in the Arab man; his hospitality.
The conversation in the Beamer was not going anywhere. Hatem was too strong for Noura to control and Noura was too frustrated with his pedantic philosophizing on equality between the genders to continue the argument. They were already twenty-two minutes late and it was time they entered the restaurant.
Fahad and Sharifa were waiting for Hatem and Noura at the table on the right side of the restaurant, the closest one to the bar that serves every possible drink on the planet, except alcohol. The rest of the evening went as planned: intelligent conversation about the fall and rise of stocks on the KSE, charming quips here and there, debate on the benefit of the reduction of the electoral circuits in the 2007 elections, and how delicious the limoto de cuadril steak tasted.
Little did Noura know that the bar that was neighboring their intelligentsia table was being observed by Abdulrazzaq(5), the restaurant owner who was helping his African immigrant staff at the bar. A member of the elite private school kids group that few Kuwaitis belong to, he recognized Hatem, Noura and Sharifa from his old school days, although he was 3 years their senior. Abdulrazzaq also realized how ten years could change an awkward nerd in high school like Noura into a subtly sexy young woman. Much to Abdulrazzaq’s misfortune, Noura seemed happily married to that obnoxious dude from the speech and debate team. He still could not resist not initiating contact with her, even if it were casual conversation between old acquaintances.
He walked over to the table were the married couples were sitting and said his hellos. Handshakes exchanged between the women, kisses exchanged between the men, small conversations were held about how well the restaurant was doing, how Fahad has been promoted to a managerial position at the petrochemical plant where he works, how Hatem has ended his residency and is now a full-fledged pediatrician, and so forth. The real conversation, however, was held between Abdulrazzaq’s penetrating stare into Noura’s eyes, something she tried to dismiss as platonic, even though experience has taught her it was not. Even the romantic dim lighting and soft techno-jazz playing in the background could not muffle the feeling that Abdulrazzaq was gazing in admiration at Noura in front of her unbeknownst husband. Flattering it was. Comfortable it was not.
The humidity in the air has nearly disappeared as the clock struck 11pm. Sharifa asked for the check from the waiter, to which Noura contested because it was their “3azeema” (6) tonight, although in her heart, she was so frightened that Hatem would embarrass her and not concede to her wish. Hatem, being gentle as a lamb and stubborn as a mule, threw a challenging smirk in his wife’s direction at her “it’s our 3azeema” claim. This was news to him; Hatem never invites anyone to dinner and certainly was annoyed that he had to change his stance tonight for his wife. The waiter replied with a white smile and a heavy African accent “its ok, madam… Mr. Abdulrazzaq took care of it.”
“Mashkoor ma gasart…” “Nredha lek bil afra7…” “Fursa sa3eeeda…” (7)
Words of kindness were delivered to the generous restaurateur for his complimentary dinner. The evening was saved. Sharifa was relieved that her husband Fahad did not have to pay again for Noura and her stingy husband. Hatem felt vindicated that he did not concede to his wife’s wishes, for he STILL wore the pants in this “broadminded” relationship. Abdulrazzaq, who earns thousands weekly, was alright with giving up KD70 for the pleasure of a woman he intends on stealing from her husband. Noura, noting that her husband valued his money more than her image, and that Abdulrazzaq valued his desire to stare at her more than his respect for Hatem who was standing RIGHT NEXT TO HER, finally realized that there are no Arab knights left anymore.
1. High-end Argentinean grill restaurant, located at the Palms Hotel- Kuwait.
2. “Do not embarrass me this time”, said in Kuwaiti Arabic
3. Typical Kuwaiti
4. Graduate Business School on the outskirts of Paris, France.
5. This is a fictional character that does not bare any resemblance to the real owners of restaurant.
6. “Dinner invitation” in Kuwaiti Arabic
7. “Thank you”… “We shall return this invitation soon”… “It was a pleasure meeting you” in Kuwaiti Arabic
