The 3am Picnic
A strange picnic experience in Saudi on 18/04/26. As of writing, 9 days later, I am in Mombasa, jut came back from theatre rehearsals for the play I will be performing in five days.
A picnic, to me, was always simple.
Something you do during the day.
Parks, sandwiches, fruit, kids running around, families scattered across the grass.
That’s what I thought a picnic was.
So when my friend in Saudi Arabia said, “Let’s go for a picnic,” I said yes without hesitation.
But then we met at 9pm.
Huh?
And then we drove for 35 minutes.
Huh?
It wasn’t a far-away desert shop.
It was the desert.
No streetlights.
No people.
No park.
I was pleasantly surprised.
Then before I knew it, another car approached — it was more brothers.
We placed a mat on the floor. My friend tore open a bag onto the floor, and poured rice and chicken onto it.
No sandwiches.
No blankets.
Just a full meal… in the dark… lit by our phones.
We gathered around: a Syrian, three Yemenis, two Saudis, one Bulgarian, and one brit all eating rice with our hands.
And yet — above us — was something I’d never seen with so much majesty.
The sky.
Not just stars… but a sky completely filled with them. Endless. Overwhelming. Glittering.
I laid flat on my back mesmerised. I had never seen anything like it before. In that moment, sleep lost all its allure. I had already been seduced by the world above. I laid there lost whilst gazing above.
What also struck me most wasn’t just how beautiful it was—
but what I compared it to.
You will never believe it.
The ceiling of a Rolls-Royce car.
Am I serious? Unfortunately, I am afraid so.
There I was, staring at the same sky that Mohammed, Moses, Jesus — and the millions before me — had gazed upon.
And that was the the best comparison I could do.
In that moment, I realised something was off.
Instead of seeing the ceiling of a Rolls Royce and seeing it for what it was — a pathetic attempt to imitate the stars — I had done the opposite…
In that moment, I realised how distant I had been from nature; how distant I had been from reminding myself of my own insignificance. A question was raised in my head: in going distant away from nature, have we truly advanced?
But that night brought me back.
We laughed.
We told stories.
We ate dessert.
Time didn’t matter anymore.
At some point, I tried to politely hint that I wanted to leave—catch some sleep before Fajr.
I quickly realised… that wasn’t happening.
My friends had no plan of leaving at any respectable time.
If I wanted rest, it would be right there under the stars.
So the sand became my mattress.
My friend’s jumper, my pillow.
And my shemagh… my protection from whatever flying insects that was going into my ear.
I never slept. We left just before Fajr…
and prayed in Al-Masjid an-Nabawi.
A night I won’t forget.
In shā’ Allāh, many more to come.