Thumairi Street is in Diera, the heart of old Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. This is as it used to be thirty years ago.
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.
Um-Salman has keys safety-pinned to
her dress, and herbs – mint, rosemary, thyme –
tucked into her headdress.
All photos credit to Marjory Woodfield