Makkah deputy governor washes Holy Kaaba on behalf of King Salman
Upon his arrival, the deputy governor washed the interior of the Holy Kaaba with Zamzam water mixed with rose water, gently cleansing the inner walls with cloth pieces soaked in the sacred blend prepared by the General Authority for the Two Holy Mosques. He also performed Tawaf.
During the washing ritual, the prince was accompanied by several officials, accredited Islamic diplomatic corps members to the Kingdom and the hereditary keepers of the Holy Kaaba.
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Arab News
2 hours ago
- Arab News
Unrecognized Bedouin villages in Israel build own bomb shelters
BEERSHEBA, Israel: When the sirens wail in the southern Israeli desert to herald an incoming missile, Ahmad Abu Ganima's family scrambles outside. Down some dirt-hewn steps, one by one, they squeeze through the window of a minibus buried under 10 feet of dirt. Abu Ganima, a mechanic, got the cast-off bus from his employer after it was stripped for parts. He buried it in his yard to create an ad-hoc bomb shelter for his family. Abu Ganima is part of Israel's 300,000-strong Bedouin community, a previously nomadic tribe that lives scattered across the arid Negev Desert. More than two thirds of the Bedouin have no access to shelters, says Huda Abu Obaid, executive director of Negev Coexistence Forum, which lobbies for Bedouin issues in southern Israel. As the threat of missiles became more dire during the 12-day war with Iran last month, many Bedouin families resorted to building DIY shelters out of available material: buried steel containers, buried trucks, repurposed construction debris. 'When there's a missile, you can see it coming from Gaza, Iran or Yemen,' says Amira Abu Queider, 55, a lawyer for the Shariah, or Islamic court system, pointing to the wide-open sky over Al-Zarnug, a village of squat, haphazardly built cement structures. 'We're not guilty, but we're the ones getting hurt.' Al-Zarnug is not recognized by the Israeli government and does not receive services such as trash collection, electricity or water. Nearly all power comes from solar panels on rooftops, and the community cannot receive construction permits. Residents receive frequent demolition orders. Around 90,000 Bedouins live in 35 unrecognized villages in southern Israel. Even those Bedouin who live in areas 'recognized' by Israel have scant access to shelter. Rahat, the largest Bedouin city in southern Israel, has eight public shelters for 79,000 residents, while nearby Ofakim, a Jewish town, has 150 public shelters for 41,000 residents, Abu Obaid says. Sometimes, more than 50 people try to squeeze into the 3 square meters of a mobile bomb shelter or buried truck. Others crowded into cement culverts beneath train tracks, meant to channel storm runoff, hanging sheets to try to provide privacy. Shelters are so far away that sometimes families were forced to leave behind the elderly and people with mobility issues, residents say. Engineering standards for bomb shelters and protected rooms are exhaustive and specific, laying out thickness of walls and types of shockwave-proof windows that must be used. The Bedouins making their own shelters know that they don't offer much or any protection from a direct hit, but many people say it makes them feel good to go somewhere. Inside the minibus, Abu Ganeima says, the sound of the sirens are deadened, which is comforting to his children. 'Our bomb shelters are not safe,' says Najah Abo Smhan, a medical translator and single mother from Al-Zarnug. Her 9-year-old daughter, terrified, insisted they run to a neighbor's, where they had repurposed a massive, cast-off truck scale as the roof of a dug-out underground shelter, even though they knew it wouldn't be enough to protect them from a direct hit. 'We're just doing a lot of praying.' When sirens blared to warn of incoming missiles, 'scene filled with fear and panic' unfolded, says Miada Abukweder, 36, a leader from the village of Al-Zarnug, which is not recognized by Israel. 'Children screamed, and mothers feared more for their children than for themselves. They were thinking about their children while they were screaming, feeling stomach pain, scared, and crying out, 'We are going to die, where will we go?'' says Abukweder, part of a large clan of families in the area. The feeling of not having anywhere to go or hide, many say, is almost as terrifying as the missiles themselves. Immediately after the Oct. 7 attack, Israeli security services placed around 300 mobile bomb shelters in Bedouin areas, Abu Obaid says. Civil service organizations also donated a handful of mobile shelters. But these mobile bomb shelters are not built to withstand Iran's ballistic missiles, and are grossly inadequate to meet widespread need. Abu Obaid estimates thousands of mobile shelters are needed across the far-flung Bedouin communities
Arab News
a day ago
- Arab News
Between Yalla! and Let's go!
RIYADH: In Saudi Arabia's increasingly globalized society, especially among young people in major cities, there is an easy blending of languages, often switching between Arabic and English in the same conversation. This phenomenon, known as code-switching, has become a linguistic norm that reflects shifting social dynamics, culture and identity. A 2024 study conducted by Kais Sultan Mousa Alowidha at Jouf University found that bilingual Saudis often switch between Arabic and English depending on the context, particularly in casual or professional settings. Saudi students who have studied or grown up abroad find themselves flipping between languages almost unconsciously. Abdullah Almuayyad, a Saudi senior at the University of Washington, Seattle, who has spent more than half his life in the US, spoke to Arab News about his experiences with both languages. 'Comfort really depends on context,' he said. 'Day-to-day I'm equally at ease in either language, but the setting matters.' • The King Salman Global Academy for Arabic Language in Riyadh has launched several initiatives to strengthen Arabic fluency, both for native speakers and non-native learners. • A 2024 study from Jouf University found that bilingual Saudis often switch between Arabic and English depending on the context, particularly in casual or professional settings. In business settings, he defaults to English because of his education and professional exposure, but casual or family settings feel more natural in Arabic. 'Sometimes my friends tease me because I'll begin a sentence in Arabic, hit a complex business concept, and flip to English mid-stream.' This mental switching, he explained, is often tied to topic-specific language associations. Some topics are assigned to a specific language in his brain. 'Once the topic surfaces, the corresponding language follows automatically.' At an institutional level, efforts to preserve and promote Arabic are gaining traction in Saudi Arabia. The King Salman Global Academy for Arabic Language in Riyadh has launched several initiatives to strengthen Arabic fluency, both for native speakers and non-native learners. Through academic partnerships, digital tools, and training programs, the academy is playing a key role in ensuring Arabic remains a vibrant and accessible language. The institute reflects a broader national push to reinforce cultural identity amid the linguistic shifts brought on by globalization. Majd Tohme, senior linguist at SURV Linguistics in Riyadh, told Arab News that code-switching is 'a very multi-dimensional issue.' He emphasized that the debate should not hinge on whether code-switching is good or bad. 'What we need to ask ourselves is, does code-switching work in the everyday context? And if it works, isn't that the purpose of any linguistic pattern?' He added that language purism might miss the point entirely. 'You don't have to get involved in that language puritanism … and code-switching is not really something new. Languages are living organisms that evolve,' he explained. Many words we consider native today, he noted, have foreign origins, such as from Persian or European languages, particularly in science and technology. Still, there are concerns about the erosion of Arabic. Tohme acknowledged the threat but said it is not exclusive to Arabic. 'It is a threat to all languages,' he said, especially in the era of globalized communication where the internet has become a shared space dominated by English. 'You now have one internet that the world is sharing,' he explained. 'It's like one huge playground where you have 8 billion people trying to communicate with each other.' And yet, there are signs of balance. Almuayyad, for instance, actively challenges himself and his peers to preserve Arabic fluency. 'In eighth grade, even though my friends and I preferred English, we agreed to speak only Arabic until it felt natural,' he said. 'Later, when my Arabic caught up, I switched and spoke only English with friends who wanted practice.' For many, especially in Saudi Arabia's larger cities, bilingualism no longer means choosing between one language over the other. The constant nudge to challenge each other keeps both languages active and growing. The Jouf University study found that bilingual Saudis strongly identify with both languages and do not believe that speaking English negates their cultural identity. It also concluded that code-switching is often required in larger cities due to the abundance of non-Arabic speakers in public and professional environments. Therefore, code-switching, especially in the Kingdom, appears to be less about identity loss and more about functionality. As Saudi Arabia opens up globally and embraces multiculturalism under Vision 2030, this blending of languages could be seen not as a dilution of heritage, but a reflection of its outward-looking generation. According to Tohme, the psychological impact of going abroad for a few years then returning to your home country also cannot be understated. Students develop a certain nostalgia for home while spending so many years abroad speaking extensively in a foreign language. They may develop the determination to make a conscious effort to strengthen their Arabic-language skills again. Almuayyad is someone who can relate to that and says if he had spent his whole life in the Kingdom, his language development might not have been that different. 'I see a lot of people in Saudi who use English freely because global media and online content are so dominant,' he explained. Yet, he admits that growing up in one place can limit the push to step outside of your linguistic comfort zone. 'My exposure to two cultures forced me to practice that stretch constantly.'
Arab News
a day ago
- Arab News
Madinah exhibition showcases local heritage, crafts
RIYADH: The 'Arts Telling Stories' exhibition in Madinah showcased the nation's culture and history through authentic handicrafts. The three-day event, which ended on Tuesday, is among several 'Year of Handicrafts' initiatives launched by the Ministry of Culture, the Saudi Press Agency reported. The exhibition featured a diverse collection of handcrafted creations reflecting the identity of the local community. Elements of heritage were embodied in palm-based crafts including baskets, incense burners, and decorative pieces, illustrating the historical bond between people and the environment. The event also showcased wooden artworks, including decorated boxes, vases, and household items crafted with techniques blending traditional sensibility and modern innovation. It featured pottery pieces inspired by folk art, drawing from the colors and landscapes of the region's geography, the SPA reported. The exhibition reflects the ministry's efforts to promote traditional arts, foster community awareness, and encourage young people to connect with their cultural roots.
