A winding mountain road, troops of monkeys along the asphalt, and a meeting that from the very first minute turns into an exercise in cultural tightrope-walking. In Taif—high above the desert—the differences between Danish everyday thinking and Saudi reality suddenly become very tangible. A hospital visit that ought to be about kitchens and catering unfolds instead into a story of power, politeness, half-truths, and the questions one may think—but would rather not ask. This excerpt from “Tumult in Mecca” offers a rare glimpse of how professional ambitions, personal boundaries, and deep cultural divides collide when you work in the midst of a society that is both rapidly changing and firmly anchored in tradition.
We were back on the main road to Taif, winding up through the mountains. The conversation shifted to the barren but beautiful landscape. On the last stretch up to the city, we encountered groups of monkeys sitting along the road.
When we drove into the mountain town, it was half past ten, and we decided to visit the first hospital before lunch. Although the director had called ahead, no one at the gate was expecting us. After half an hour, we were finally picked up and taken to the director’s office, where we again waited for about twenty minutes.
The entire circus from Thursday’s visit repeated itself in every detail. The hospital director willingly and thoroughly answered our questions. Later, when we visited the kitchen, we found none of what he’d told us matched reality. Jakob and I took it in our stride, but Helmuth was agitated.
‘Calm down, Helmuth,’ Jakob said firmly in Danish. ‘We’re here to observe and record. This isn’t a criminal investigation.’
We were finished by noon, and the director invited us to lunch. Jakob and I were leaning towards a quick sandwich, but that was out of the question. After a short drive, we stepped into a brand-new marble-clad American chain hotel—the InterContinental. There were fountains and palm trees in the lobby and, once again, a teeth-chattering temperature. Fortunately, we had our jackets with us.
The director ordered Saudi champagne in the restaurant, and Helmuth suddenly looked hopeful. His disappointment was equally great when he learned there were no exceptions to the alcohol ban in the kingdom, at least not in public spaces. The champagne was Apfelschorle, served in tall glasses.
We were chatting when Helmuth suddenly asked the director if polygamy was still practised in the country. Jakob and I were so surprised that we didn’t intervene before the director responded. ‘Yes, it is,’ he confirmed. ‘I don’t practice it. My wife is French and would probably return home if I showed up with a new one.’
Jakob and I smiled, while Helmuth looked puzzled.
‘In wealthier circles, it’s respected and expected to take multiple wives,’ the director continued. ‘Overall, however, it’s only a small number of marriages in Saudi Arabia where the man has multiple wives. It’s expensive. And impractical.’
The director’s response was polite, relaxed, and without a hint of irritation. It elegantly closed the topic, but Helmuth continued with, ‘Why do so many women wear niqab? Is it voluntary?’
At that moment, our order arrived, and the attention was deftly shifted to the food, which was excellent. However, it was clear Helmuth hadn’t forgotten his question and was waiting for another opportunity to ask it. Jakob sensed that, too, and asked Helmuth to step out into the lobby for a moment. I couldn’t overhear their conversation but guessed that Jakob had spoken firmly. Helmuth looked pale when they returned.
The cultures and social systems in Denmark and Saudi Arabia had little in common. We viewed almost everything differently. But we’d known that before accepting the project. Our task was to prepare a bid to improve the food services at five public hospitals. That wasn’t too bad. We couldn’t simultaneously introduce a parliamentary democracy, freedom of religion and gender equality. Holding the director accountable for what we perceived as unethical social and cultural conditions was inappropriate and rude. When the conversation or circumstances warranted, we could illustrate the disadvantages the culture and system caused in other ways. Or we could, when the moment came naturally, explain how we lived and organised ourselves.
‘There are still strict rules for women’s clothing,’ the director resumed the topic, ‘but wearing a niqab is no longer required. Women can now get an education, work, go to the cinema and participate in social activities. They still don’t have the right to vote and they aren’t allowed to drive. None of us have the right to vote, so there’s a kind of equality there.’
He spoke clearly but softly. Our conversation couldn’t be overheard at the other tables in the room. ‘Development is moving in the right direction,’ he continued, ‘but there’s still a long way to go. A male guardian must still approve almost all major decisions in a woman’s life. You Europeans have dismantled these norms over the last couple of hundred years. We’re barely getting started. When we build the new central kitchen and staff the operations, it’ll be obvious that these conditions hinder recruiting qualified labour. We don’t have it ourselves, and very high salaries and perks are needed to attract foreigners to move to Taif.’
We wouldn’t do it ourselves, and our wives wouldn’t even set foot in the country. Excluding half the population from the labour market created unnecessary economic bottlenecks. That was probably one of the reasons the regime had started relaxing the restrictions.
The rest of the lunch went smoothly, and we avoided potentially controversial topics. Instead, we discussed the project, its challenges, and possible solutions. That’s why we were there.
The director steered the conversation back to the general situation in Saudi Arabia, where oil revenue was steadily increasing and bringing new opportunities. The government wanted to modernise society within the framework of Islamic tradition. The health and education sectors would receive significant investment, and we could expect a wave of new projects. The five hospital kitchens we were working on were just the beginning. If we won the Taif project, the doors would open to many of the new projects the massive public investments would bring.
I could see Helmuth shifting uncomfortably in his chair and understood his unease. On the one hand, it was positive that at least some oil money trickled down to benefit the general population, but contributing to consolidating an absolute monarchy where thousands of family members freeloaded off the wealth they hadn’t created and didn’t help distribute was painful.
On the other hand, I was puzzled by the director’s narrative.
Was he trying to influence us to invest in the project so we’d come up with a price below the actual costs to position ourselves for future projects? It wasn’t an option Jakob and I could handle, and the time was too short to involve more financially powerful partners in the project.
Neither Jakob nor I knew anyone we could immediately bring in, and we had no experience with such consortia. Ideally, we wanted out of the project and to act as consultants. We’d discussed this extensively over the past few evenings and agreed it was our best option, and probably best for the project, too. We kept our cards close to our chests and simply responded that everything sounded exciting and promising.
After lunch, we went to the last hospital, which was exclusively for the mentally ill. Again, we couldn’t get into the facility and didn’t see the kitchen, but the entire building was in such poor condition that it would be impossible to renovate and equip a new kitchen. It confirmed that our idea of building a central kitchen for all five hospitals was the right one.
By three o’clock, we were heading back towards Mecca and on to Jeddah.
The above is an excerpt from the novel “Tumult in Mecca“.
