A Season in Saudi Arabia

Before leaving the Philippines, I’d contacted my brother via WhatsApp and asked him to “give us a year” at his home. I’d carefully explained what had happened to us and the danger of melanoma. After some time, he said his wife had agreed “in principle” for us to stay one year, but it was likely they’d need a break from us during the year and suggested we move to my mother’s house later in the year. Overall, it was clear they wanted to offer us the exceptional help we needed, but it might unravel at any time given the general pressure of their family life.  On July 1, 2023, we arrived at their house in the back of a van driven by our old friend Tom, who had picked us up at the airport and was visiting us all in Norfolk for the first time in years. While he and his family got quickly reacquainted with my brother and his family, I unpacked our belongings in the room we’d been allotted. Inside the room, I immediately felt the gravity of the situation in front of me: I was surrounded by...

Two years ago, my family and I left the Saudi Kingdom behind right in the middle of the Covid-pandemic. It was a highly-charged, truly epic departure, where we felt the presence of God himself as he worked a series of miracles to lift us out of Arabia against the odds and bring us back to our family house on Siargao Island, Philippines. Final deliverance itself was sweet enough, but once back on the isla we were able to build our dream house  (using funds saved from my second Saudi season), surf every day and look forward to a five-year residency on an island we truly loved. Far from the mask-wearing and app-showing conformity of pandemic Saudi, life suddenly felt free again and the freedom was sweeter than the ripest date in the world.  Quite frankly, the idea of returning to KSA for a third time was the furthest thing on my mind in those heady days. Indeed, I had written off ever seeing Saudi again for the rest of my days. Yet today, unexpectedly writing this blog from Engl...