165 | Stung by another perspective
Jeddah, Saudi Arabia
This week I write from Jeddah. I am back on my bike having had a long and beautiful break. Next stop, Christmas in Riyadh (probably)! If anybody knows anyone there, do let me know :)
It's mid-October and I have discovered that Belgrade is a difficult city to leave. Spiritually, because it's fun — it has good vibrations. And physically because there are not many cycle lanes.Â
Although I had intended to leave early this morning, I had grabbed coffee with Ben, an American who feels so hopeless about the urban planning of American cities that he's travelling the world to document how other’s manage traffic. Traffic is therefore at the front of my mind as I plough through various motorways, crossing blankets of cars. My heart is thumping; my iPhone speakers are blaring Bob Dylan's Hurricane. Belgrade is a city I feel I understand. It's filled with smart young Serbians and Russians, construction sites, small cafes and energy. But having stayed two nights, then three, then four, it is time to roll south. Today's target is Smederevo, but it is 3 pm, and I still have sixty kilometres remaining. I frantically pick up the pace, leaving the motorway and following lanes or tracks over flat fields. The weather outlook does not look good; the horizon is wet and dark.
My frantic peddling is making me myopic. I close off and cycle inwards. But when I do, the destination seems ever further. Will I make it? I obsessively check my odometer: fifty-five kilometres to go, two hours until sunset.
I cycle past a man standing with a guard dog beside his compound — he waives and signals for me to stop. 'I can't stop for everyone,' I thanklessly and selfishly think. I feign a wave and push on. The man says something (perhaps he is a cyclist?)—no matter, I don't have time to stop.Â
Suddenly, I feel something on my face. My body reacts before my mind can process it. My hand slaps my jaw and then smacks my mouth; the bike swerves as I brake. It is as if a hair clip has been attached to my lip. I quickly become aware of my hand ripping a large insect away from my mouth.Â
I pull over. I don't think I am allergic, but what if I am? I can't remember the last time I was stung by anything. Sheepishly, I walk my bike back towards the man by the compound. "Zdravo," I say with a smile, lip throbbing. "Do you speak English?"Â
Frederick speaks immaculate English. I explain I have just been stung; he invites me for tea. Although I am running later than I'd like, we go inside, past his suspicious guard dog, which growls. Â
Frederick's home is industrial; on the ground floor is his workshop, and he lives above. He builds drones but refuses to sell them to the Serbian military, so farms use them for pesticides. He explains how many companies like his have left Serbia for the UK, Germany or France as we walk among drones with six-foot wing spans, iterations of nose-cone designs, and stacks of blueprints. He tells me it's difficult to find skilled engineers in Serbia, yet he still refused an incentive from the British government for £2 million to move his engineering firm to the UK.Â
My bottom lip is now twice its natural size. I've developed a lisp. Frederick prepares tea with local honey in his kitchen, and he is no longer talking to me but instead to my lip. His eyes watch it twitch. In the middle of our conversation, he lifts a box of medicine from a cabinet and prepares some drugs that I take without hesitation. Â
As I swallow the mystery drugs, I ask, "Why didn't he take money from the British government and move his family to the UK?"Â Â
It's a simple enough question, I think. But Frederick pauses. He slowly tops up his tea while staring at me. He is now looking at me right in the eyes. I can hear the guard dog bark outside, and the rain knock-knock-knocking against the wide aluminium windows. He places the pot back on the table.
Eventually, Frederick begins. It's because "the British government is one of the most ruthless in the world." I stay quiet. He tells me the Americans and the British only care for humans who hold their passports and think nothing of those who live in different countries under foreign governments. Â
Why does he feel this so strongly? I don't have to wonder for long. Frederick explains that he was in Belgrade in 1999 when NATO executed Operation Allied Force1, which attacked Yugoslavia prompted by the Yugoslav ethnic cleansing of Albanians. The Royal Air Force deployed its Harrier and Tornado jets. Frederick explains clearly, holding my eye contact, that the British attacked his home and his family and threatened his life. This is why he doesn't allow his drone technology to be used by the Serbian military; this is why he would never move to the UK.Â
At this moment, Frederick has taught me I have only one little view, and this view — flickering like a candle — illuminates barely anything. I realise, for the first time, that I know just a fraction of the world, the thinnest of slices, and that I must always presume the picture I see is biased and incomplete. Frederick, in this conversation, has revealed another part of a global picture. Moreover, he’s hosting me generously, while holding and offering an opposing perspective.
I thought I understood Belgrade but hardly knew about NATO’s operation. I naively thought the British government acted in everyone's best interest, but I didn't consider the impact of interventions on civilians abroad. I have only been shown (or made an effort to see) one heavily redacted point of view. And at this moment, with my lip by my chin and hot tea draining out of the side of my mouth, thanks to Frederick I realise I need to make an effort to understand people on the other side of conflicts and cultures. Happily, this understanding is best developed over tea.
Live well,
Hector
The bombing led to the withdrawal of Yugoslav troops from Kosovo. From Wikipedia: 'NATO launched its campaign without the UN's approval, stating that it was a humanitarian intervention.  The UN Charter prohibits the use of force except in the case of a decision by the Security Council under Chapter VII, or self-defence against an armed attack – neither of which were present in this case. … It was the first time that NATO had used military force without the expressed endorsement of the UN Security Council and thus, international legal approval…'