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Mrs. Jackson stays home in Ahmadi, the company's air-conditioned town that looks almost like any U.S. suburb, and raises their ten-year-old daughter in a three-bedroom aluminum prefab. Before returning to the U.S. on leave last spring after two years in Kuwait, Mrs. Jackson had been longing to enjoy 1) a reunion with her relatives, 2) a head of fresh lettuce, 3) a quart of sweet milk, in that order. After a few weeks in the U.S. she found herself longing to return to Kuwait. "We have bridge parties here and there's a woman's club that meets every other week," she says. "There's a dance every Thursday night. The first Thursday of the month it's formal, and on every British and American holiday there's a party. I think we go out a lot more than we did at home."
When summer comes, the Jacksons turn on the air conditioning and seal themselves in their house, with occasional trips to the immense swimming pool at the nearby Hubara Club. "We go to Kuwait once a week," Mrs. Jackson says. "There's a store called Jolly Brothers where we can get Campbell's soup, American coffee, peanut butter, jelly and saltine crackers."
When Kuwait Oil Co. first went into Kuwait 18 years ago, it did not worry too much about pleasing the Sheik or sharing the new-found wealth with the people. Iran changed all that. As soon as Mossadegh got into power, K.O.C. sought out the Sheik—who had been getting a measly royalty of 10^ a barrel—and offered him a 50-50 split of profits, before taxes. This year, facing the pleasant prospect of a return of more than $200 million, the Sheik also faces a problem: how to spend it on his tiny, backward kingdom without creating inflation.
Abdullah al Salim al Sabah, a tall, heavy man of about 58, has a reputation as something of a scholar. Awed subjects say he has read through the encyclopedia from A to Z; currently he is writing a history of Kuwait. He is a kindly, gentle man, with a low, musical voice which he seldom raises. Every Friday he takes off on a cruise in his well-fitted dhow, accompanied by officials from K.O.C. and local American and British diplomats. He relaxes and invites his foreign friends to air their problems. There is nothing about him of the autocratic air of his neighbor, Ibn Saud. He revived the Majlis (an informal council of sheiks and leading businessmen) which predecessors suppressed. He has plans for setting up some kind of constitutional government in Kuwait "when the people are ready." In the meantime, the door of his small, unpretentious palace is open to anyone who has anything to say to him.
Abdullah shies away from travel: "If I go to America they will put me in an elevator and take me whishing up to the 750th floor and I'll be terrified. If I go to England they will put me in a feather bed and I will be asphyxiated. No."
His sheikdom is changing fast. Today, Kuwait merchants can supply anything from diesel generators to bobby pins. The streets crawl with four-hole Buicks churning up the fine dust (Abdullah plans to pave the streets). When K.O.C. came, there were four elementary schools, 600 boy pupils; now there are 31 schools and 7,500 pupils, including girls. The Sheik has built a 400-bed hospital, a women's hospital, dental clinics.