Last week, as my family and I drove over the King Fahd Causeway after a visit to Bahrain, we were put to great inconvenience. We were forced to wait at the border crossing for two hours in the scorching summer sun. The reason was that I had brought some books with me. I had bought the books because I knew they were not available in the Kingdom’s bookstores.
The minute the Saudi customs inspector saw the books, he rushed to call his superior who came to “check what was going on.” It was soon obvious that neither the reputation of books nor of those who carry them count for much on our side of that border. The inspectors went through almost every part of the car, checking the seats, doors and boot; they even opened the engine cover and peered inside. My wife was taken to a special room where women are searched while the children were left waiting outside, baking in the midday heat.
I was told to go with my books to the media and publications office where literature coming from abroad is examined. In that office decisions are made about what is allowed in and what is not. When I got there, it was prayer time and I was told to come back later.
When I returned after praying at the nearby mosque, the office was still closed because the staff had not yet returned from prayer. When the office finally opened, I introduced myself as a writer and journalist in the hope that this would convince the inspector to process my case quickly.
The books, by the way, dealt with Arabic literature and poetry and there were also some novels. In any case, my being a writer and a journalist had no effect, and I had to wait while every book was carefully checked. The process took 45 minutes. Even after all this, they held some books which they said needed further examination. I was told to come back and collect them in a week.
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