The day we got escorted to a Police Station in Saudi Arabia

AlUla & Madain Saleh, Saudi Arabia

Saudi Arabia wasn’t open to tourism.

Naturally, I wanted to explore it.

I mean, Madain Saleh – the place associated with the she-camel and the people of Thamud; the Hijaz railway that carried pilgrims from Damascus to Medina; and the extraordinary tombs carved into sandstone by the Nabataeans. There were some cultural boundaries to break.

There was, however, one small logistical problem. Women couldn’t drive in Saudi Arabia at the time, so exploring meant we needed a man with us. I roped my Sudanese friend to drive us and our little travelling group was formed; me, my Lebanese friend and our Sudanese friend.

What I hadn’t realised was that, between the three of us, we were practically representing the colours of the world – and drawing more attention to ourselves than I’d anticipated.

Before we left Riyadh, I had this little inkling that we might need permission to visit the UNESCO heritage site. I wasn’t entirely sure, but something told me to check. So I went to the museum in Riyadh and, sure enough, got us a permit.

At the time, it just felt like another piece of paperwork.

We flew from Riyadh to Medina, picked up a car and drove to Madain Saleh. We showed the permit at the entrance. No questions. No problems. We explored, took great pics and headed back to our hotel. Maafi mushkila.

Or so we thought.

The hotel had seemed straightforward enough. We’d booked two rooms – one for us ladies and one for our Sudanese friend- and nobody had asked any questions.

The next morning, however, he told us the receptionist had been questioning him about who we were and why we were travelling together as there had been a raid by officials.

That got our attention.

We panicked. Suddenly, getting out of AlUla and back to Medina seemed like a very good idea.

We had every intention of stopping at the Prophet’s (PBUH) Mosque in Medina and still making our flight on time.

We just had to get out of AlUla first.

The problem was, a police checkpoint had appeared on the road. It definitely hadn’t been there the night before.

My Lebanese friend insisted on sitting at the front beside our Sundanese friend as she got car sick. Looking back, the two of them together probably made our travelling party even more conspicuous.

We got pulled over. ‘Its okay, ___ knows what he’s doing. He’ll sort this.’ I thought as our Sudanese friend was asked to exit the car.

Except he wasn’t looking particularly confident.

His face went pale. He was panicking. If this turned into something serious, he explained, we would need to be released by our sponsors.

Our sponsors were in Riyadh.

We had been told to follow the police car to the station and strictly not to use our phones.

Before I’d left for Saudi Arabia, my brother-in-law had said to me, ‘If you ever get into trouble, call me. I have contacts in the police.’

I’d laughed. Why would I get into trouble? I wasn’t going to do anything wrong.

I called him.

I was hiding in the back of the car, trying to make calls without being seen. I tried my sister back in the UK.

Her message came back: We’ve just got up for morning prayers and we’re going back to sleep. We’ll call you later.

No. You need to call me back NOW.

My sister called back. My brother-in-law got involved. He called a police contact in RIyadh, who called someone in Medina, who called someone in AlUla.

Meanwhile, we were still following the police car, my Sudanese friend berating me for coming up with the trip idea and persuading him to join.

Just as we were pulling into the police station, the officer’s phone rang.

He answered it.

Then he turned to us.

‘Where’s the permit?’

We showed him the permit.

He looked at it. Then at us.

‘What you’re doing is not right, ‘ he said. ‘Yalla go!’

And then, unbelievably, he let us go.

We were free.

We drive towards Medina, determined to make our flight – and, if possible, avoid attracting the attention of any more police officers.

By the time we reached Medina, there was one more problem.

My Lebanese friend didn’t wear a hijab.

Normally, this was entirely her choice. But after the morning we’d just had, I was taking no chances, especially in the second holiest city.

‘I’m all for feminism,’ I told her, ‘but please, PLEASE put your hijab on right now.’

We were almost there when we were stopped again.

Another police checkpoint.

At this point, none of us had the energy to panic.

The officer looked into the car. He looked at the three of us.

Then he just shook his head.

Not angry. Not suspicious. Just…… disapointed. 😂

He waved us through.

We made it back to Medina. We made our flight.

We had surivived the police checkpoints, the questioning, the phone calls, the permit drama and, somehow, each other.

And then the three of us did the only sensible thing left.

We avoided each other for a week.

Apparently, some friendships need a short recovery period after crossing boundaries together.