With rumors flying, and no one being able to tell me anything for sure, I wrote to the U.S. consulate about my Iqama, and job switching quandary, who advised me to come in for an appointment. So on Wednesday, I left work early and took a taxi to the consulate. I shared the cab with a woman who was going to pick up her passport which would now have additional pages. Someday, I want to travel enough to need additional pages in my passport. For now, I would settle for just having a passport. Anyway, we picked her up and I was nervously biting my nails because my appointment was at 2:30, and it was already quarter past by the time we reached her. But Mr. Rashid, our pakistani taxi driver remained his usual calm self. He assured us we would arrive on time, and turned up the BBC world service on the radio.
I had read on the website that cell phones were not allowed, in fact, no bags of any kind are allowed. But since I was coming straight from work, I had no choice but to bring my bag, and I wasn't sure what I should do. I didn't know Mr. Rashid that well, or if I would even be taking the same taxi home. The other lady was only going to be in there for five minutes, so he was happy to wait for her and take her back to the apartments, so she was going to leave her purse and phone in the taxi. But I knew my appointment would be over an hour, and Mr. Rashid wasn't sure he would be free then, so I would need my phone to call him, or if he wasn't available, call another taxi. Besides, I didn't really know him well, so I was hesitant to leave my work bag and phone with him in the taxi. I figured there would be a check point somewhere along the way where you can leave your bag.
So we reached the parking lot area for visitors to the consulate. Far away in the distance, I could vaguely make out the outline of a building, but it seemed pretty far away. Between us and the building was a long walkway lined in concrete traffic barriers. The first man we came to told me I couldn't bring my bag. I asked him if I could leave it here and he told me no, I should take it back to my car. I told him I came by taxi and I couldn't leave it. He looked extremely unhappy and somewhat concerned, and after some more explaining and pleading on my part, he agreed to let me leave my bag in the tiny cabinet below the checkpoint. Now armed with only a stack of papers and a photocopy of my passport, (and thankfully, my US driver's license) I made my way to the next checkpoint, which was through a maze of bars, not unlike being in line for a roller coaster at an amusement park, only we were the only ones in line. There was a guard waiting at the head of the line. And he escorted us one at a time to the door of the next checkpoint. When he came for me he said something I didn't understand, but assumed he wanted my ID. So I dutifully handed him my driver's license. He shook his head but still held out his hand, so I handed him the appointment reservation I had printed online. He didn't want that either. Finally he said "Hands!" as he grabbed one of my wrists and turned it over. I quickly juggled my paperwork so it was all under one arm so he could swipe my hands with something, that I can only assume was meant to detect bomb residue or something.
Then he walked me in and checked my paperwork to be sure there were no explosives or knives taped to the back of page nine of my contract or something, and sent me through the metal detector. After the metal detector was another long walk between concrete traffic blocks and then an iron gate that clicked open as I approached. Inside the gate it was green and nicely landscaped with a row of golf carts parked neatly to one side. There was a lovely large building with official looking seals all over it, and I headed that way at first, until a man in a business suit and professional looking ID badge came out of the doors and pointed to a smaller building off to the side with a big sign saying "Visa and Passport Area" so I headed on over. Inside, it felt like a DMV. In the back was a small, (I'm talking cart sized) Jeoffry's coffee shop and some restrooms, and in the front was a large digital display announcing "now serving # 66". I looked around for somewhere to take a number. There was a woman in the back behind a counter, so I approached her, but she just waved me forward and said, just take a seat. I sat down near the front, so that I would have a good view of both the digital display, so I could watch for the number I didn't have, and the counter where the woman was seeing people.
She seemed to indicate the next person by simply looking out from the glass and giving head nods to whomever she wanted to talk to next. It was a surprisingly good system. After all, there were only a half dozen or so people in the lobby, and all of them appeared to me to be Saudi. I sat watching a women across the isle from me comfort a small baby while her husband tried to simultaneously fill out paperwork and keep a small boy from running around the room. I smiled at the little boy, and the mother looked over at me. She might have smiled, but I couldn't tell, she was wearing the niqab and all I could see were her eyes. After a few minutes of furtive glances, she walked over and sat down next to me. She asked me about where I was from and about my job. When she found out I was a teacher, she got very excited. She told me she was returning to the US in the fall to start graduate school in Pennsylvania. Her husband was also studying there and both of her children had been born there. They were at the consulate getting a passport for the four month old. Her English was good, but she was worried about the graduate school level work and wanted to know what she could do to practice. I told her to read everyday, and to practice listening to lectures. I suggested a few websites, and other things she could do, but we didn't get very far in our conversation before I was being called into glass booth #4.
There was a woman and a man on the other side of the glass from me listening to my story of being illegal, and the company not issuing my iqama and my separate issue of wanting to quit and start for a new company. Nothing I said surprised them, they had seen it all before. When they asked the name of my company and I told them, the guy smiled and said the name of my boss in Riyadh. Clearly the company was so notoriously bad, the consulate staff already knew him by name. I cringed. I cringed even harder when they gave me their advice. Basically, he said, there is only a 500SAR fee ( $133.31) if a company is caught "holding" visas for which they haven't yet applied for iqamas. Since the iqama fee is 2000SAR ($533.25), and the company only gets a certain number per nationality per year, it is in the company's best interest to not submit the paperwork for the iqama. He told me the company could more or less keep me here without an iqama indefinitely. He didn't advise that I quit before the iqama was issued, but didn't elaborate why. He said my best bet was to wait it out until I received my iqama, then ask to be transferred to the new company. Chances are, they would not agree to transfer me, at which time I could simply resign with the obligatory 30 days notice, and wait for the company to issue my final exit paperwork (which they could take as long as they wanted to organize...) and then leave the country to come in on a new visa with the new company. It seemed better to me to resign ASAP and skip the part where I wait forever, since chances are they wouldn't agree to a transfer anyway. He told me he didn't think that was a good idea, but didn't say why.
They did offer to call the company and politely inquire about the status of my Iqama, but that was pretty much all they could do. I asked if it was legal for them to hold my passport, and they sort of shrugged and said, "Well.....basically, yes." "So I am stuck?", I asked. "Yes." they both said. They wished me luck in the sort of way you wish someone luck who is about to attempt a slam dunk when they are only four feet tall. I collected my various contracts and copies of my passport and headed for the door. I left feeling somewhat relieved to have information from a reliable source, but mostly just beaten down. I stopped to get some water from the water cooler with environmentally friendly origami paper cups before I headed back outside for my three block walk back to the parking lot and my bag with the phone in it so I could call the taxi. I was mid gulp when I heard my name over the loudspeaker. My first impulse was a flutter of hope, had they forgotten to tell me about some loophole? Was there still hope? I rushed back to the window. No. Sadly, it was only that I had forgotten to collect my driver's license, which I had used as proof of ID. "Not that you have any need for it here," said the woman with a knowing look as she handed it back. "No, I sighed, no chance of that."
I walked out for the second time, but decided I had better use the restroom while I had the chance. Inside the toilets there was real toilet paper. I am in America! I thought as I wiped my bum with soft quilted 2-ply. It's the little things. I left the office for the final time, and with every step and every gate I walked through to get back to the parking lot, the heat, my situation, and, well, everything felt a little more oppressive. It's easy to forget until you get a reminder. I made my way back to where I left the bag with the guard, who saw me coming and got my bag out when I was still 50 feet away. He clearly couldn't wait to be rid of it. I took out my phone and called Mr. Rashid, then sat on the sole bench, thankfully halfway in the shade, to wait for him to take me home, and hoped it would not have to be my home for too much longer.
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