Rauf al Hamayal


	Dhahran Diary®
Title: The Hotel MacKenzie DD20		This is the eastern face of jebel Shamaal viewed from the Ras Tanura road in 1950. Frequently visited by Boy Scouts, this is the most prominent landmark north of Dhahran. At one time is was riddled with caves and other hiding places to tempt the imagination. (rcc)

Malcolm MacKenzie lived in the house (1148) catty corner from Steve Furman (1151-B) on Eleventh street. It was first home to Rule Cochran and his family and sometime after the MacKenzies left it was turned into an executive guest house by ARAMCO. Malcolm and I were friends although we were a grade apart; we shared the left side of the scrimmage line for the Dhahran Cubs touch football team, and we shared other things too. He, or his parents, had a recording of the birth of jazz by a professor- Stein- I think his name was. We listened to the voices of work gangs in the south (USA) as well as sophisticated entertainers like Louis Armstrong singing happy birthday to Bing Crosby. Mac and I also had other friends; we drifted back and forth.

When I can back to Dhahran in 1982, I would sit in my cubicle on the tenth floor of the Tower building looking out. During morning tea, I could look out toward jebel Shamaal and drift back to the days when we visited the jebel as Boy Scouts. Shamaal was the prominent fixture to the north of jebel Zhahrana (Dhahran now sprawls there) and jebel Jenub was the next most prominent landscape feature to the south. Jenub was too pointy for scouting overnights but Shamaal was perfect; amid its upper recesses were numerous nooks and crannies lined with sand pockets. One or two tents could easily be pitched in these opportune refuges.

Shortly after becoming a scout, I was able to make an overnight to jebel Shamaal. I was a little unsure about the whole thing but once there, the scouting kicked in and I began to have fun with my friends. A tent mate and I pitched our tent and after placing our gear inside, we ran off to play and eat. It was a beautiful evening. We could see the lights of Dhahran and in the far distance a few winks from Manama on the island of Bahrain. A strong breeze began to kick up as the older boys were taking us newbies away in groups of five or six. They were supposed to teach us about scouting, and some did, but some of these boys were already social bullies; they scared us with sex talk and frightening stories. We usually ran and threatened to 'tell,' speeding off in the direction of the scoutmaster, Roger Strang. We would hang around him until the vultures descended on another unsuspecting pack of newbies.

The breeze turned to a wind which began to kick up sand. We returned to our tents and snuggled in for the night. I was awaked later by the howling wind and the departure of our tent. It just blew away. My tent mate and I retreated into our sleeping bags but it was too frightening. I left and sought shelter elsewhere. It was pitch dark and the sand was pitting my face and arms. I lost my sandals and as I groped around I contacted a tent stake and rope. I worked my way around to the front flap and thrusting my head in, begged entry. Malcolm MacKenzie invited me in; I was not the first. The tent was packed and I just burrowed in between two bodies and thanked goodness this tent was still up! I rolled to my right side and came face to feet with Malcolm's lower digits. This odious welcome became perfectly acceptable.

After a few minutes of getting comfortable, I realized that each blast of wind brought a super-fine shower of sand; it floated down and blanketed everything it touched inside the pup tent. I discovered my red and white checked gutra was still wrapped around my neck; I pulled it over my head and came to understand how important an article of clothing it was to the Bedouin. I drifted off amid much snoring, coughing, and colon burping- any port in a storm. After that night, I nicknamed jebel Shamaal the Hotel MacKenzie.

Dhahran Diary®