Growing up in Saudi was... complicated.
I looked different.
White skin, western mother, deep Madani roots.
A walking contradiction in a country that, back then, didn’t quite know where to place people like me.

My parents tried to shield me, but kids are like a radar, they sense difference like heat. So I learned to survive by being funny. Quietly funny. Observational funny. The kind that makes tension dissolve before it lands.

I didn’t realize I was building armor.
I just thought I was learning timing.

But underneath it all, there was this restless thing. A hunger to explore. To find new worlds. To boldly go where no white Saudi boy had gone before... and yes, I know that’s a Star Trek line. The irony isn’t lost on me. I was always more Star Wars than Starfleet, but maybe that’s the joke. The bridge between galaxies was already inside me.

I grew up in a house of contradictions. Arabic that bent in three dialects. English that shaped my jokes. Identity that always needed translation. But humor... humor didn’t need subtitles.

Then came life. Hollywood. Japan. The long detour of becoming “responsible.” I left the stage for respectability, traded scripts for spreadsheets. And somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that my time in the spotlight had been a youthful indulgence—something to pack away with the posters and the costumes.

Until the announcement came.

A Comedy Festival. In Riyadh.

I didn’t believe it. I told my friend Peter, the pioneer of stand-up here, there’s no way this is happening. He just smiled and said, “It’s happening.”

Then the lineup dropped.

And for a second, I forgot how to exhale. It hit me hard. Not because my name wasn’t there. But because it didn’t need to be. The initial list was... really?

It wasn’t pride exactly. It was disbelief. The kind that hits when a part of you that’s been asleep for decades suddenly sits up. I didn’t need my name on the list. Seeing it happen at all was enough.

Then a birdie told me in a fashion reminiscent of the old 90s infomercials... “WAIT! There’s MORE!!!” And more and more legends and GOATs were announced.

This was happening, and for some reason, it mattered.
Because it wasn’t imported.
It wasn’t forced.
It was ours.

That week felt unreal. Legends... the legends... walking the same streets, standing on the same stages we once joked about never seeing here.

I met Chris T. No cameras, no social media. Just a moment after midnight and in a big voice I said “It’s Friday!” and we laughed. LCK had a killer nonstop laughing intimate set, surprised by how much we got it. How insanely crazy this experience was. Later, Ismo showed up surprising the audience at Russell P’s show. Performing with a broken back because he couldn’t imagine missing this.

That’s the power of it all. Not fame. Not ego. Just humanity showing up for the laugh.

One of them laughed like the punchline finally found him.
The other looked around like he’d just landed on another planet.
And me? I just stood there, shook hands, locked eyes, and said, softly, “Welcome to Saudi Arabia, my friend.”
It was real, and I witnessed it unfold.

Again... No cameras. No press. Just that moment.

Because that’s what this really was.
Not an event.
A homecoming.

All those years I spent away trying to prove myself in languages not my own, suddenly folded back into one truth: I didn’t need to belong everywhere. I just needed to be seen here.

This was the yes I’d been waiting for.
Not the kind that hands you a trophy.
The kind that heals hope.

If I could talk to that kid version of me now, the one who survived by being funny, I’d tell him this: Go do your thing. It’ll be hard. It’ll be demoralizing. But you’ll be happy. Because somewhere, someone is watching you and taking notes.

So when I say Riyadh said yes to my dream, it isn’t about approval or fame. It’s about acceptance. About realizing it’s not left or right anymore. There’s a middle. And we’re saying yes to it… by going big with laughs.

Because maybe that’s what the new Saudi sounds like. A laugh that’s finally ours.
And somewhere in that laugh...
I think I finally heard myself again.