Thumairi Street

Pamela says that at Souk Haraj bin-Gassem the men

shout, “Taille,taille,” and sell everything you can

imagine. Thobes, old swords, miswak. She says

follow the road past the frankincense and myrrh

heaped on the ground. Past air heavy with the smell

of burning oud. Stop further down Thumairi Street,

beside pens of sheep, displays of vegetables.

Bedouin Ladies’ Market. Walk round women cross-

legged on the ground. Their second-hand clothing

tumbles out of old tin chests. Piles in the dust. Tribal

dresses, face masks with dowry coins, silver

bracelets. Um-Khalid, mother of Khalid, is old

and her knees arthritic but she makes chai for

Pamela and shares her treasures. 1. A swirling

peasant dress. Pomegranate red,sunshine yellow.

Rows of chain stitch, geometric motifs. 2. A

straight thobe-cut dress with yellow embroidery.

Delicate glass beads and red knots. Bani-Malik tribe.

3. A cloak: gold thread embroidery and decorative

tassels. Qassim region. They are all dirty

and some torn. Later Pamela will wash and mend

them with small, neat stitches. Silver beads fall

through her fingers. She watches children kicking a

tin can in the dust, playing soccer, says last time

she brought them a ball. Stops beside Um-Salman.

Her baby on one breast and toddler on the other.

Pamela bends down, picks up a headdress. Beaded

red embroidery, fringing on each corner. Bani-

Sa’ad tribe. Um-Salman has keys safety-pinned to

her dress, and herbs – mint, rosemary, thyme –

tucked into her headdress. The air is sweet and when

she moves the keys ring like tiny bells. Pamela

follows the map in her head down Thumairi Street

back to the car. Her bags of dresses fill the boot and

back seat. Pamela laughs. She says these women

look out for her. They are her friends. She loves this

place like home.