I recently returned from a trip abroad and put myself at considerable risk by importing a women’s magazine. Such an endeavor is not for the weak hearted as it could result in being lambasted publicly, having the offending item seized and signing a declaration stating that such a criminal act would never be repeated. Nonetheless, I decided to chance it as learning more about the Pitt-Aniston split far outweighed the consequences of detention at the airport.
I walked through customs with an expression writ all over my face that announced the presence of an illicit publication in my possession and was hauled over by an officer.
“Are you bringing anything with you that is not allowed?” he questioned as the porter heaved my luggage through the X-ray machine.
I shook my head unconvincingly as he flicked through my passport.
He stared at me with an expression of such disbelief that I stupidly decided to give myself up. I rummaged through my handbag and produced the glossy journal. I reluctantly handed Brad and Jennifer over in complete silence waiting for the sword of Damocles to descend. To my utter astonishment, rather than chastising or lampooning me and without saying a word he glanced at the cover and handed it back. What then ensued was a game of passing the parcel.
“Can I take this?” I asked displaying my incredulity as he returned the contraband issue. He nodded, stuck some stickers on my baggage and waved me through.
Things have really moved on. Some years ago, prior to the introduction of satellite TV, I had recorded a videocassette of cartoons for my daughter in London. The customs official opened my suitcase and retrieved the tape.
“What is this?” he inquired suspiciously.
“Just some cartoons for my daughter,” I answered not feeling altogether convinced myself.
I was suddenly struck by the prospect that this video may not be as innocent as it seemed. What if, for example, there were adverts in the middle depicting unsavory products that I was not aware of? What if I had unwittingly picked up the wrong tape altogether?
I busily calculated what the potential punishment could be for importing a collection of Baywatch episodes. One lashing for each exposed body part?
By now I stood transfixed doubting the contents of the cassette and looking as guilty as sin.
“Cartoons, ha?” quizzed the officer.
“Cartoons,” I confirmed quite unconvinced by the words emanating from my mouth.
“Go to that room,” he ordered pointing to a tiny opening in one of the partitions. I complied feeling quite nauseous as to what revelations awaited me.
“What’s this?” asked a man sitting behind a big desk.
“Cartoons,” I replied dubiously. He strolled over, took the VHS tape and attempted to insert it into a betamax machine. I watched his endeavors as he flipped it over and shoved it in unsuccessfully as the opening was not large enough to accommodate its girth. He then turned it on its side and managed to insert part of the wrong side, with the bulk of it hanging loose. After the fourth crack, and with a genuine fear of him destroying the innocent machine I apprised him of the problem.
Another colleague was called and they finally got the thing to play.
To my relief, a flurry of cartoons on double speed pervaded the screen. But then, in the middle of Richard Scarry’s Adventures the tape froze.
“What’s that?” thundered the guy. There was a scene with an animated turtle and his family transporting a hippopotamus to the beach in their car. I narrated the scene, much to his agitation and he started pointing excitedly to the corner of the screen.
“Not that! That! That!”
There in the background under some parasols was a family of cartoon pigs lapping up the sun. My first instinct was to laugh, but I was deterred from doing this because of the grave expression that had dominated his face.
“You can’t bring in pigs,” he declared amazed at my audacity.
“I am not bringing in pigs. These are animated pigs. They are not real.”
“I am sorry, but you can’t have this back,” he concluded with finality.
“This is absurd! It is only ‘haraam’ to eat pork. It is not forbidden to possess cartoon images of pigs. I am obviously not going to eat them.”
After somewhat of a tussle, I was allowed to keep my cassette although I vowed to him publicly and to myself privately that I would never import another video like that again in my life.
This was around the time when Marks and Spencer products were banned in the Kingdom. We used to have to rip out all the labels in our undergarments prior to packing. One of my friends was regaled with the amusing sight of an Irish nurse approaching customs when she suddenly realized that she had brought in Jaffa oranges. She then proceeded to roll them down her abaya one by one and kicked them into a corner lest she be caught with an illicit fruit brand.
This is not a phenomenon exclusive to this place, might I add. A British woman clutching a copy of Black Beauty was stopped at Cape Town airport during apartheid and severely reprimanded for attempting to introduce literature contradicting the policies and procedures of the state. After all how on earth could there be such a thing as black beauty? Her cries that this was a book about a horse fell upon deaf ears.
But the piece de resistance of all stories must be that of a Saudia captain who purchased a book highlighting the achievements through humor of the Marx Brothers. He was accosted by an overly alert customs officer at the Old Jeddah Airport who insisted on confiscating the book.
“But why?” he implored. “It’s only a book! There are not even any pictures,” he added emphatically.
“You are trying to bring in a dissertation by Marx and you expect me to let you go free?” he retorted.
“No! No! This is not Karl Marx. This is Groucho Marx and his brothers Harpo and Chico.”
“You mean his brothers don’t share his opinion?” the officer asked in earnest.
“They are comedians! They are not philosophers or politicians,” he reiterated.
The official not quite sure of what to do solicited the help of one of his superiors who drew the same convoluted conclusion. Someone high up had to come and release the poor guy who was now being accused of trying to spread corrupt ideologies among his countrymen.
The captain was only released after his benefactor agreed to sign an indemnity declaring that Groucho, Harpo and Chico bore no blood relation to Karl Marx and did not subscribe to his dogma!
And there it was. The actions of one dedicated individual that prevented the aberration of communism from infiltrating our borders!
(Lubna Hussain is a Saudi writer. She is based in Riyadh.)
