Foreshadowing of a Future

Sixteen years before I ever called the UAE my home, I sat in the Dubai airport for a transit flight.

I didn’t know it then, but sitting in that terminal was a quiet foreshadowing of my future.

I was just a young girl leaving the lush familiarity of Surabaya, Indonesia, bound for Saudi Arabia.

I was making Hijrah.
Following a man.

And honestly… I was terrified.

The Sea of Black and the Souq

I arrived in Riyadh in March. The weather was mild, almost gentle—completely hiding the fierce desert summer waiting ahead.

But while the weather was soft, the culture shock was not.

I remember walking into Sahara Mall and feeling completely overwhelmed by the sea of women moving gracefully in black abayas and niqabs. It was beautiful… but it felt so unfamiliar compared to the colorful, easy world I had just left behind.

When it was time to buy my own first abayas, my husband took me to Souq Owais. I remember gripping his arm so tightly, like he was my only anchor in that moment.

I was excited, yes—but also wide-eyed, nervous… especially when I saw the Muttawa walking through the market for the first time.

Looking back now, it feels almost surreal.
But in that moment, everything felt big, and I felt very, very small.

The “Spoiled Girl” in the Grocery Store

The real culture shock didn’t happen in the mall.

It happened in the grocery store.

I still remember our very first night in Riyadh.
We went to Panda.

I stood there, quietly pushing the cart, completely confused about what to buy. Everything looked familiar… but not quite the same.

I remember thinking,
How do people just… know what to buy?

I didn’t even know where to start.

I have to admit something—I was a bit of a spoiled girl back in Indonesia. I didn’t really know how to cook. My housekeeping skills were nearly zero.

And suddenly, I was standing in a Saudi supermarket, staring at things I didn’t recognize… labels I couldn’t read, ingredients I had never used before… realizing that I was now the one responsible for feeding a home.

That realization didn’t come loudly.
It came quietly… but lingered thickly.

And then, just to make things more overwhelming—I found out I was pregnant in my very first month.

Between the nausea, the unfamiliar food, and my complete lack of cooking skills… I actually lost weight during that first trimester.

It wasn’t just emotional.
It was physical too.

The Sims and the Silence

When my husband left for work and school, a heavy quiet would settle into the house.

The kind of quiet that feels louder than noise.

I would wake up late, using the time difference as an excuse to call my mom back in Surabaya… just to hear something familiar.

And when the call ended, the silence would come back again.

So I played The Sims.

Looking back, it makes so much sense. I was in a new country, pregnant, homesick, and completely out of my depth in real life… so I escaped into a world where I could control everything—the house, the cooking, the routine.

I would play The Sims for hours, then stop around 4 or 5pm to start dinner—as much as I could while learning how to cook, lol—and wait for my husband to come home.

Usually, he would take me out without me even asking, just so I wouldn’t go crazy staying home all day.

And we went out a lot.

McDonald’s. KFC. Herfy. Kudu.

Nothing fancy—but at that time, it felt like a small escape. A break from the quiet, from the confusion, from trying to figure everything out.

I still remember the McDonald’s soft serve ice cream and fries.
The ice cream was only 1 riyal.

So simple… but so, so good.

Maybe it wasn’t really about the ice cream.

Where Was the Barakah?

When I look back at that girl—the one who was scared, lonely, and playing The Sims just to cope—it’s easy to only see the struggle.

But now… as a mother of ten, running a full, loud, sometimes overwhelming home in Sharjah, I see it differently.

I keep asking myself:

Where was the Barakah in that time?

The Barakah of the Cocoon

Looking back now, I think Allah was removing everything I used to rely on… one by one.

My family.
My friends.
My familiar places.

So that my husband and I would learn to become everything to each other.

That moment in Souq Owais—holding onto his arm like I might float away—
that was the beginning of something deeper than I understood at the time.

The Barakah of Humility

You cannot become a matriarch without first unlearning the “spoiled girl.”

The confusion in the grocery store.
The failed meals.
The uncertainty.

Those were not just struggles.

They were lessons.

The Barakah of the Quiet

Today, my life is full. Loud. Busy in every possible way.

Ten children.
A home that never really rests.
A body that sometimes struggles.

And yet… back then, Allah gave me something I don’t have anymore:

Silence.
Space.
Time to grow without even realizing it.

At the time, it felt like emptiness.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe it was preparation.

I didn’t know it then.

I really thought I was struggling…

but I was being prepared.

A Thought for You

Have you ever moved somewhere completely new and felt that overwhelming wave of culture shock?

What were the small, funny… or quiet things you did just to get through the days?

I would love to hear your story.