Can anyone provide a better translation of this sign?
One that might give us some insight into what we’re being advised not to do?
From the picture that accompanier-ed this infomercial my best guess is that we’re being admonished against throwing plastic bags onto BBQ’s whenever we’re near the seafront (a most heinous of crimes, if ever I could imagine one).
Now, whether or not such ceremonial bag-burning is permitted at other venues, well – I just don’t know.
And this is apparently an accurate translation of the Arabic, despite the fact that it’s actually only an estate agent.
Makes you wonder though!
You’ll have read this one carefully. It’s a list of people who aren’t allowed on this particular ride at a funfair. I went back to get a better picture of it but they’d taken it down. It read…
Not allowed on this ride
Pregnant women,
Persons who have heart problems,
[people with] high blood pressure,
[people with] neck problems,
and [people with] …
I like this sign not so much because of the incorrect usage of the indefinite article (a), for me it’s more the concept (or perhaps, delusional hope) that by pointing out that something is bad manners you can bring about its end.
Contrast this with how the UK authorities have dealt with graffiti.
It’s regularly pegged as being “vandalism”, “destruction of private property”, “a prosecutable offence”, “criminal damage” and altogether “illegal!”. Certainly a linguistically stronger approach than the Saudis have taken.
Even if you look at the fencing next to those stretches of the London Underground in the UK that are above ground; you’ll see signs warning potential graf artists that the British Transport Police have helicopters on patrol looking for individuals that they can arrest and invariably ASBO into submission.
And yet no-one in the UK has thus far tried to simply point out that it’s a faux pas (social blunder) to spray your name onto the back wall of the local bingo hall.
Can you imagine where we’d be if someone had taken Banksy to one side early in his career and said “I say old bean, but don’t you think that it’s rather rude to be spraying that there?”
Yes, probably exactly still where we are now; which is why I’m inclined to be a little sceptical of the Saudi approach.
There is agreeably a growing problem with the shabāb tagging the walls in their areas or near their schools. And amusingly for me most taggers use kunyā’s and possess poor grammatical skills. Such that “Kilroy woz ere” becomes “Abu Khalid am here.”
It’s also sad to relate but a lot of graffiti involves Saudis spraying the names of the few Western rap artists that they’ve heard of; I was dismayed to see “Tupac” and “50 Cent” staring back at me in bright letters from local buildings when I first arrived.
Not that I’m suggesting that we need to Arab-ise this Western culture and come up with our own “50 Halālas” or “Ithnayn-bac.” As an actual fan of graffiti art (not so much tagging, the real artistic stuff), it’d be nice to see the two worlds (Islam and graffiti) collide more over here. Like some colourful nasīha making it onto the walls, that says “Pray before you’re prayed upon!” all written in wildstyle . Kind of like what Mohammed Ali does.
Instead what you find are desperate attempts at gaining attention as you note the lonely spraying email addresses onto walls, or you witness worryingly badly drawn genitalia on the more profane pieces that you spot (one inappropriate drawing I witnessed had me wondering whether or not the writer needed to urgently see a doctor as his anatomical reproduction in paint seem to have some additional bits that other human beings don’t normally have).
And indeed, that last trend in wall decorating that I referred to certainly is an example of “a bad manner.”
There’s nothing quite like a swim after tarāwīh…
I slipped gently into the pool and began treading water, looking around for a direction to swim in. One of the Saudi youth was looking at me intently and splashing away to himself in his own unique way.
I find it a little awkward when I don’t understand what someone’s saying and so when he addressed me with words that were completely lost on me, I decided to politely nod and said “Yes, hello. How are you?”
He ducked under the water, only to pop back up shortly after.
This time I managed to isolate the phrase “Yā shabāb!” from the rest of the incoherent speech that he directed towards me before he reverted to his disappearing and re-appearing trick.
I decided to focus on his yellow goggles and matching nose clip and reflected on how they softened the look of urgency on his face that would have otherwise been very decipherable.
He surfaced once more and I started to get the impression that he wanted to tell me something much more than merely to welcome me to the pool. My eyes narrowed as I scanned my phrasal memory for clues as to what it could possibly be.
I think he must’ve understood that I was trying, however hopelessly, to engage with him as he held out his hand to me and managed to say “Ay…” before disappearing beneath the water again.
With each resurface I detected a greater desire to be understood on his face.
I took a wild stab in the dark and cautiously asked “I’m sorry, but uh… are you… perhaps, drowning?”
I held out an arm to him realising that this gesture might be better understood that any oral inquisition. He immediately grabbed on to me and having confirmed my suspicion I pulled him to the edge of the pool; where he, in between coughing up water and spitting, managed to smile and looked generally grateful.
I have a friend, who although not a regular swimmer, related that he’s seen two near drownings in pools this past year.
I’d have to say that health and safety in general doesn’t appear very high on the list of priorities in any Saudi Arabian work ethos that I’ve ever come across. I think that swimming pools are a good enough example of the lackadaisical approach here as any.
There doesn’t appear to be a “life guard” per-se. Sure, there’s a guy wearing heavy army boots and a security uniform complete with a matching hat, sitting near the pool (most of the time). But his job appears more to be collecting a fee from the swimming public (and playing with his phone in between completing such a task), more than to jump into the pool and rescue drowning people.
Even the design of the pool doesn’t really seem to have had novice swimmers in mind. For example, you have the deep end and then there’s the deeper end.
I’ll never forget the first time I went swimming when first arriving here.
We went after ‘īshā` and having swam for about an hour there must have been about twenty of us left in the pool when the lights suddenly, and without warning, all went out. I was left with about as much visual comprehension of my whereabouts in relation to the rest of the world, as you have when you wake in the middle of the night and only have the faint glow of a digital alarm clock to guide to the bedroom door.
My naive British nature had me waiting expectantly for an announcement to be broadcast across a tannoy system informing us all to stay calm as there’d been a power outage in the building, but no!
“They must be closing for the night” my friend informed me.
But we’re still in the pool?! Surely they could have forewarned us or at least provided us with enough light to swim to the edge of the pool. Wouldn’t it also be helpful for the staff to have sufficient lighting to check for any bodies floating face-down before they look towards locking the gates at night?
I suppose it is true that, even in the dark, swimming in any direction (bar downwards) will eventually bring you into contact with the pool-edge and thereby provides a means of exit. But putting this simple truth aside aren’t there easier ways to empty a pool than just switching all the lights off?
Aren’t there things like whistles here or an Arabic equivalent to “Everybody out! I want to go home!” Well, apparently not.
Anyway, I’ve made a mental note to myself to research some elementary Arabic phrases that I can use in any future visits to a KSA pool.
Simple phrases like “Can I help?”, “Are you drowning?” and “Brother, are you sure those Speedo trunks that you’re wearing are halāl?”
Credit goes to Mahmud for this and the picture’s from Jeddah.
Full credit goes to Kamran for spotting this beauty!
What I can’t understand is that if the “author” of this masterpiece knew enough English to double the ‘p’ before adding ‘-ed’, then surely they should have had an inkling that it wasn’t the best of translations?
I guess it’s no secret that there are some accents out there that when they traverse the English language will unwittingly interchange their V’s and W’s.
But this, to my knowledge, was merely an issue of pronunciation and not one of spelling. Having different phonics programmed in for release upon the need to express a specific sound.
Much to my delight, I have now discovered this phenomenon immortalised in signage.
I was taking over my grade 1 class from the previous teacher and noticed this beauty on the board:
And it’s true!
Allah as the creator of everything did in fact create the right, the acute, the obtuse, the reflex and the straight angle.
However, when the lesson is on arkān al-īmān you’ve got to wonder if it’s the right place to be making this point.
My encounter with Rabee’ quite literally left me with a foul taste in my mouth!
Here in Saudi, choice can be restricted.
We find, as I’m sure you’ve heard, that some are championed over others. Whether this is because of behind-closed-door agreements or just the natural order of things – I really don’t know!
But having lived in the West I can assert that there is certainly a greater freedom of choice. One which allows you to venture outside of “brand names.”
I’d heard of Rabee’ but had never come face to face before. I don’t know what drove me to it, but I thought to myself – hey, a harmless introduction surely can’t go amiss?
We met in the local market and after a brief exchange at the cashier’s till, I opted to bring Rabee’ home with me and serve some tea.
As I sat there in my living room, I could see the steam rising from Rabee’ and felt the heat that was being omitted as I drew closer.
Yak! What kind of garbage was this?!
What foul nastiness was I being exposed to?!
The shock led me to spit my tea back into my cup.
How could anyone pass this off as a quality beverage?
I think I’ll have to stick to the more well established, like Shaykh Lipton.
At least until someone can bring me over some of my favourite Illuminati bags from the UK.
