After two weeks of doing basically nothing at work, it was nice to be assigned to proctor exams. The trouble was the exam schedule was completely in Arabic, so I wasn't really clear where I was supposed to be or when. I asked for help to find out where I needed to be, and when, which was good, since it turned out I was reading the schedule backwards. Since it is all right to left, the morning shift is where I though the afternoon shift was. I would have shown up in the right place at the wrong time, that is if I could have found the place. None of the lecture halls are labeled, but since everyone else who works here seems to know where they all are, it didn't appear to be a problem for them. I asked someone where the Al Farabi hall was, and they looked at me like I was crazy for not knowing. Then they just vaguely mentioned downstairs and gestured off to the left.
Never one to pass up an adventure, I went off to find it. Going downstairs is more of an ordeal then it sounds. There is a staircase that leads directly down, but since a section of that floor is used by the men in the management offices, if you want to go downstairs without your Abaya on, you first have to go upstairs to the third floor to by-pass that section of the second floor with men on it, and then down on the other side all the way to the first floor. So after all that, I ended up downstairs but still lost. I followed the girls rushing around looking panicked, and sure enough, they led me to a large lecture hall, and sure enough, there was a familiar English teacher who welcomed me, so I figured I was in the right place.
There were over 100 chairs all in neat rows. The girls were instructed to leave their bags and cell phones at the front of the room and take only a pen or pencil. Most were good about following this rule, but some had to be asked more than once to put their phones or bags away. The first exam was two hours long, and even though most of them finished in 30 minutes, they had to stay put until an hour and 15 minutes in. I imagine it was as much torture for them as it was for me to be pacing up and down. There were about 10 teachers assigned to watch the students and be sure there was no cheating, and make sure the ID's matched the number the students wrote on the exams. Since there are no pictures on the ID's for modesty reasons, one assumes that the student is who she says she is.
The first day of proctoring, was sort of exciting, but, after two weeks of it, including Saturdays, I was pretty much over it. I think I only survived the boredom because I got smart after the fist day, and started wearing my hijab so that I could have in earphones and no one would notice. I was able to finish the whole audiobook of "Stranger in a Strange Land" and got about half-way through Peter Pan.
Which isn't to say there weren't some exciting moments. During one session, someone forgot to turn the ringer off on their phone, but it kept ringing and ringing and ringing, so we teachers had to search through the pile of bags to try to find the offending phone so it wouldn't keep distracting everyone. Another time, a girl got ill, and we had to rush her off to the bathroom. Even though she had nearly finished, because she left the room early, her test was disqualified and she had to take the whole thing again later. Interestingly, there is nothing to stop you from arriving to the test late. Many girls didn't bother showing up until 30 or even 45 minutes into the testing period. Which is all well and good if they don't need the whole time to finish the test. But at the end of one test (in fact, 5 min. after the end of one test) I literally got into a tug of war with a girl who had arrived late, and didn't finish, and was now in tears, trying to tear her paper out of my hands when I tried to collect it. I might have had more sympathy for her if I hadn't seen her chatting in the hallway before the test, so I knew she wasn't late because of her driver or anything truly unavoidable.
The most frustrating part about the whole deal for me though was the contradictions inherent in the whole system. They seem to go out of their way to make the exams appear to be fair and make it impossible to cheat, but in the end, they find ways to cheat themselves. Here is an example. The students did extremely poorly on the English Exams, and by extremely important, I mean, less than half of the students received a passing mark. Since the mid-term exam is 20% of the final grade, and the final exam is 60%, that didn't leave much hope that many of them would pass. The solution? Well, we certainly can't offer extra tutoring or more classes, or anything as sensible and educationally sound as all that. No, instead, we had to give them all another "very very easy" test, to boost their scores. Yup, lower the standards. That's definitely how we should be training the women who will someday be doing root canals and open heart surgery.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Starting at the Institute
One of Suleiman's selling points for taking the job at the medical school over fate college was the ability to earn extra cash in the evenings by working at the "institute" a private language school next door to the college, owned by the same people as the college, but somehow different from the college.
They called me at the end of my second week of work to officially recruit me for the evening classes. They initially wanted me to work from 4pm - 8pm everyday. After my last experience working non-stop at my old company and tutoring, I wasn't sure I wanted to jump into a 12 hour work day. Even though I didn't really do anything yet at work, I was sure I would start doing something eventually, and then an hour break between the college and the institute definitely wouldn't be enough. I told them I could do two hours, but not four. Then we spent some time negotiating pay. As bored as I was, I wasn't sure I really wanted to give up my evenings watching The Wonder Years and experimenting with cooking in my hallway kitchen for mere peanuts. Still, given the whole point of staying in Saudi was to make money, I figured I should take every opportunity I had to do just that, so I agreed to start.
I went to the institute the next day during normal work hours (since I was so busy doing nothing there) and met with all the men in charge. We did some paperwork to finalize everything and he showed me where the women's section was (a separate building entirely, closer to the college). We did not go with me inside however, since only women were allowed inside.
They wanted me to start that afternoon so I arranged for the driver to come back and pick me up a few minutes before 4pm and head over the institute. I arrived and went inside and looked around for someone in charge. There was a woman behind the large desk who seemed very confused when I approached her. Apparently, no one had bothered to tell her that I was coming, or that I would be teaching. I'd like to blame it on the gender divide, that because men aren't allowed in the women's section they weren't able to tell the women about me, but I have a sneaking suspicion that even if I was a man joining the men's campus, communication wouldn't be great either. So that first day was a very short 10 minutes. She told me she would call me back when there was a class ready to start.
Two days later, she called me and told me to come from 6pm to 8pm. I came and so did 5 students. There were officially 12 on the roster. Eventually, there would be 15 on the roster and only about 7 showing up regularly, which was crazy to me since they were paying to take the course. The girls were a mix of mostly older married women looking to advance their careers (or get one in the first place) and high school girls with parents who wanted them to have as much exposure to English as possible. It seemed to me that none of them really knew each other, but after a while I discovered that for most of them this was their second class together, they just didn't really interact much. I was really surprised by that, but I guess I shouldn't have been, since Saudis are generally quite formal and distant with me, why wouldn't they be with each other?
The class went well and they all seemed keen to learn, so I had the feeling it was going to be an easy and rewarding 2 hours 5 times a week. We will see.
They called me at the end of my second week of work to officially recruit me for the evening classes. They initially wanted me to work from 4pm - 8pm everyday. After my last experience working non-stop at my old company and tutoring, I wasn't sure I wanted to jump into a 12 hour work day. Even though I didn't really do anything yet at work, I was sure I would start doing something eventually, and then an hour break between the college and the institute definitely wouldn't be enough. I told them I could do two hours, but not four. Then we spent some time negotiating pay. As bored as I was, I wasn't sure I really wanted to give up my evenings watching The Wonder Years and experimenting with cooking in my hallway kitchen for mere peanuts. Still, given the whole point of staying in Saudi was to make money, I figured I should take every opportunity I had to do just that, so I agreed to start.
I went to the institute the next day during normal work hours (since I was so busy doing nothing there) and met with all the men in charge. We did some paperwork to finalize everything and he showed me where the women's section was (a separate building entirely, closer to the college). We did not go with me inside however, since only women were allowed inside.
They wanted me to start that afternoon so I arranged for the driver to come back and pick me up a few minutes before 4pm and head over the institute. I arrived and went inside and looked around for someone in charge. There was a woman behind the large desk who seemed very confused when I approached her. Apparently, no one had bothered to tell her that I was coming, or that I would be teaching. I'd like to blame it on the gender divide, that because men aren't allowed in the women's section they weren't able to tell the women about me, but I have a sneaking suspicion that even if I was a man joining the men's campus, communication wouldn't be great either. So that first day was a very short 10 minutes. She told me she would call me back when there was a class ready to start.
Two days later, she called me and told me to come from 6pm to 8pm. I came and so did 5 students. There were officially 12 on the roster. Eventually, there would be 15 on the roster and only about 7 showing up regularly, which was crazy to me since they were paying to take the course. The girls were a mix of mostly older married women looking to advance their careers (or get one in the first place) and high school girls with parents who wanted them to have as much exposure to English as possible. It seemed to me that none of them really knew each other, but after a while I discovered that for most of them this was their second class together, they just didn't really interact much. I was really surprised by that, but I guess I shouldn't have been, since Saudis are generally quite formal and distant with me, why wouldn't they be with each other?
The class went well and they all seemed keen to learn, so I had the feeling it was going to be an easy and rewarding 2 hours 5 times a week. We will see.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
The DQ
Since I had an appointment at the Embassy for Wednesday afternoon, I figured why not visit Caroline in the Diplomatic Quarter afterwards? The diplomatic quarter or DQ, for short (this always makes me want ice-cream) is a huge tract of land where all the embassies for all the countries who have embassies in Saudi are. Surrounding the embassies are residential areas where lucky expats live. The security is extremely tight, but the environment is incredible. There are fountains and palm trees and green things everywhere. There are recreational facilities and even a small shopping area. The place is huge and getting in isn't easy. There are only two gates, and so there is always a line of cars waiting to get in. Guards walked around our cars with mirrors to check the underside and trunk, and we had to drive past two giant tanks, with guys carrying machine guns at the ready, and that was just to get through the first check point.
At the next point I had to show my passport and a printout of my appointment. My taxi driver had been to the DQ before, but never to the US embassy. Neither had I. We both kept our eyes out for signs and directions. We passed the Iranian embassy, the Nigerian embassy, the Swiss embassy and the "equestrian training park". We saw signs for the Egyptian embassy, the Irish Embassy, and the United Nations office, but still no sign of the US embassy. We stopped and asked at the United Nations building, and a guard pointed to a deserted looking corner of the parking lot. My driver took me over and stopped another man gathering trash. He told the driver that this was as close as he could get by car, and offered to walk me in the right direction. There still hadn't been any signs. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps there was no signs on purpose, as a sort of security measure.
I paid the driver and got out and followed the garbage man across a few concrete barriers. Eventually we rounded a corner and there is was, a covered walkway with misters going leading to the entrance of the consular section of the United States Embassy. I went through the gates and metal detectors and left my cell phone at the front in a little box and got a number in exchange to reclaim it when I came out. I went through another metal detector and then out a door into a really nice outdoor area with a fountain and some chairs and cafe tables. It struck me as odd to have a little cafe inside of such a restricted area, but I guess even the consulate officers need a place to take a break from work.
The consulate area was guarded by another set of guards who led me to the american citizen services section. It wasn't that crowded and It only took about 10 minutes to see a consular. He said basically the same thing the other guy said. He would call them and ask them what was taking so long. He said that was about all they could do. He told me about another case with the same company where a woman had waited over a year for her exit visa and had camped out in front of the embassy for weeks and still there was nothing they could do. I suppose he was saying this to assure me that they were doing all they could do, but it just made everything seem more hopeless than ever. I asked him if he thought I should submit the case to the ministry of labour. He advised against it. He explained that it would probably make the whole process take even longer. Anytime the ministry is involved, it adds a month or two to the whole process he told me. I thanked him, discouraged, and headed back outside.
The whole meeting had taken less than 15 minutes and I now had about 2 hours to kill before I met Caroline. I was pretty hungry, and I had forgotten to eat lunch. I didn't want to eat too much because Caroline was going to make dinner, but I figured I would need something to hold me over. So I set off in search of two things, Caroline's place, and the little shop for groceries she told me was near her house. It was a hot day so I decided to take off my hijab. After all, this was the DQ, I could have even taken off my abaya if I wanted to! I was nervous to go that far because there were a lot of men in thobes around, but man was it nice to feel the wind in my hair. It's funny how you forget about small joys like this so easily.
I meandered past a number of buildings including one for the ministry of tourism and culture in Saudi, which supposedly had a museum. I thought about trying to go in, but my growling stomach urged me on. I walked past a sign that said British Embassy and pointed, and I remembered that she lived very near the British Embassy because she had talked about a recent party with an Indian theme she had attended there and walked home from. So I turned and walked into a little covered walkway. There were a lot of business offices in this strip mall sort of area, there was a sign for IBM, Tyson, and The British Council. I realized I must have seen the sign for the British Council and not the British Embassy, but it was a good detour because I found a little shop like a 7-11. I bought some interesting looking vegetable chips, and almost bought some other candy and nuts, but I didn't want to spoil my appetite, so I stuck with the vegetable chips. While I was waiting to pay I overheard a little scuffle between the cashier and a customer, He was claiming discrimination. It wasn't clear what it was he wanted, but it was clear that he felt if he wasn't Saudi, the shop owner would have let him have it. He stormed out of the store, and I looked around at the faces of some of the other customers for some clue as to what had just happened, but they were all extremely busy avoiding looking anyone in the eyes. I paid and left to ponder the mysteries of the situation outdoors in the garden area.
I found a nice shady spot and sat down to read my book and finish my veggie chips in the great outdoors. It felt wonderful. The chips weren't terrible, but they also weren't great, kind of like eating those packing chips from the 80s that dissolved a little when you got them wet, seasoned with the packets from Raman noodles. It was enough to hold me over. I continued walking hoping I would eventually spot something familiar, or that Caroline would call. I walked past half a dozen more Embassies and the little shopping mall type area, but that seemed closed so I kept walking. I was just getting ready to ask someone for directions to the British Embassy when Caroline called. She was finished with work and was just waiting on the driver. She told me to head for roundabout 11 and told me the name of the neighbourhood she lived in. I told her I would start walking in that direction and we would probably both arrive around the same time.
Luckily, I could see round about 10 to my right, so I took a chance and figured roundabout 11 would be the next one on the left. I was right. Sure enough, in front of Roundabout 11 was a sign for the neighbourhood she lived in. I was a lot closer than I thought. So when I saw a path on the other side of roundabout 11 leading to the top of a hill, I figured I had time for a small detour. It was a steep climb, but it had been paved with little stone steps so it was pretty easy climbing. There were some bushes overgrown on the path and I thought about what a shame it was that this cool path clearly went unused. If I lived in the DQ, I would run this trail every morning and when I got to the top I would jump up and down like Rocky. Since I was walking and not running, I decided to forgo the celebration When I got to the top. On one side I could see the financial district of Riyadh in the distance. All of those skyscrapers had been built within the last 3 years. It was kind of amazing to think about really. Construction happened around the clock and 60 story buildings were finished in 6 months or less. On the other side, I could look out over the greenery of the DQ. It was like looking at two completely different geographies. On the one side, brown flat and concrete, on the other, hills and palm trees everywhere. I kept going on the path past the overlook and on the other side of the hill was a really cute little hidden picnic area. There was a spot for a camp fire and a stone picnic table that looked like something they would slay Aslan from the Chronicles of Narnia on. It was great. There were dead leaves and overgrown plants everywhere, but it would make a great spot to hang out in the evening and roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories. I was really mad that the Embassy had such strict rules about bringing things in. I didn't have my camera or my tablet or anything to take pictures with.
I would have stayed longer, but I figured I had better find Caroline's place. I went back down the hill and followed the sign to her neighbourhood. I walked past the Swiss Embassy and a small elementary school that had already let out for the day. I remembered Caroline saying that her place was next to a garden so I went into the garden next to the school. There was a nice small fountain in the middle of the garden and there were these little secluded bench areas like mini gazebos all around the fountain. there were climbing plants growing around all of the structures and the whole thing was lovely and shaded and beautiful. If you kept walking to the right, there was a small playground, and after that a fenced in tennis court. The path kept going, but it didn't look like there were any houses that way so I turned back. On the way out I saw a map and quickly realized why the garden wasn't helping me find the place. There were over 50 gardens in the DQ of various sizes. I had obviously not found the one near her house.
Caroline called again and let me know that she was home. I told her I was still on the way. Unlike the rest of Saudi, the DQ actually has street names, so I was able to tell her where I was. Unfortunately, that didn't really help her much since she didn't recognize the street name. I told her I would keep walking following the signs for her neighbourhood and I would arrive soon. I did keep going, and about 45 minutes and three wrong turns later, I finally found her place. Maybe I was secretly getting lost on purpose, just to keep enjoying the sunlight and being outside near green things.
Caroline made a nice dinner for us and we chatted about our work. Both of us were the kind of people who didn't really like sitting around doing nothing, but somehow, that's the situation we were both finding ourselves in at our various jobs. The owner of FATE's wife had had her baby, and so they had more or less taken the week off. Caroline was excited for them but was getting anxious sitting in an empty college waiting for students to arrive, and it wasn't much better at home. Her apartment was almost like a cave these days since all but one of the light-bulbs had burnt out. The ceilings were tall and she couldn't simply replace them herself. She had been waiting for them to fix it for going on two weeks now. There was always something. She told me she was seriously considering quitting if things didn't get moving soon. I told here that they hadn't (surprise, surprise) gotten me the iqama yet, so I was beginning the process of fighting for a final exit. She told me she knew the HR guy at the British School in Bahrain and happened to know they were looking for an English/Theater teacher for their lower school. She said she remembered from my CV I had some theatre experience and she could put me in touch with them if I wanted. I told her that would be great.
After dinner, we went for a walk, sans abaya. There is a 40 km long track around the whole perimeter of the DQ and people can bike jog or walk along it. She told me that strangely, she never really saw anyone else walking around. Occasionally she saw someone walking a dog or pushing a stroller, but other than that, it was pretty empty. I thought what a shame it was that so many people tried so hard to get a place here for all the amenities it offered, and then they never even used them. I'd like to think I would be out walking everyday if I was here, but to be honest, I'm just not sure that I would. Maybe I would get complacent like everyone else and end up spending my nights binge watching The Wonder Years. Who knows. We walked along the path for a while, and there were a lot of places like the one I had found at the top of the hill. There were out of the way secluded fire pits and picnic tables, and sometimes just little benches built into the side of the path. Caroline and joked that it seemed ironic that someone had basically built a serious of hidden make-out spots all over this walking path. I think in reality they were made so families could have barbecues, and the women could uncover and enjoy their time with the family feeling secure that no one would see her out in the open. Still, if you were a teenager, you couldn't ask for a better make out spot.
When it got dark we turned back, I'm sure we had only seen a fraction of what the DQ had to offer, but I was definitely jealous. I kept thinking, this could be mine, could have been mine, if only the complicated Saudi labour laws didn't get in the way. I figured I would get back home so that I could go and not work the next day, but Caroline suggested we watch a movie or a TV show or something, and I realized that despite our very different living situations, Caroline was just as lonely as I was.
We spent the rest of the evening watching the first episode of the Walking Dead and I was really glad to have her company for that. I wanted to keep watching the series on my own, but doubted I would ever do it alone or at night. e joked about how if you stand in the center of a mall and watch all the abaya clad figures shuffling past, they were pretty much just like the walking dead.
When it started to get late I called a few taxi drivers I knew, but not many of them answered and the ones who did didn't want to come to the DQ. She called her driver and he wasn't around. We tried looking up some cab companies on the internet but had very little success. I was surprised that a system like uber taxi hadn't taken hold here. I mean, after all, everyone has a cell phone, and half the population pretty much always takes taxis. Caroline pointed out that it would never work for Saudi's who were very mistrustful of drivers and liked to stick with just one. I teased her because she is the same way. I told her it was probably because the system already works pretty well. I've never waited longer than 5 minutes for a taxi by just standing outside on the corner and waiting. So that is what we finally did.
She walked me to the gate and we stood there, me in my abaya, here without anything, waiting for a taxi to drive by. I felt uncomfortable this close to the outside world and Caroline without her abaya. She felt uncomfortable being practically naked compared to me all bundled up. We had to wait a few minutes, but eventually a driver came by. He didn't have an official taxi sign on the roof, but he did have a meter, and Caroline very studiously took down his plate number just in case. I promised to call her as soon as I got home and we parted ways. Not a bad way to spend a Wednesday night.
At the next point I had to show my passport and a printout of my appointment. My taxi driver had been to the DQ before, but never to the US embassy. Neither had I. We both kept our eyes out for signs and directions. We passed the Iranian embassy, the Nigerian embassy, the Swiss embassy and the "equestrian training park". We saw signs for the Egyptian embassy, the Irish Embassy, and the United Nations office, but still no sign of the US embassy. We stopped and asked at the United Nations building, and a guard pointed to a deserted looking corner of the parking lot. My driver took me over and stopped another man gathering trash. He told the driver that this was as close as he could get by car, and offered to walk me in the right direction. There still hadn't been any signs. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps there was no signs on purpose, as a sort of security measure.
I paid the driver and got out and followed the garbage man across a few concrete barriers. Eventually we rounded a corner and there is was, a covered walkway with misters going leading to the entrance of the consular section of the United States Embassy. I went through the gates and metal detectors and left my cell phone at the front in a little box and got a number in exchange to reclaim it when I came out. I went through another metal detector and then out a door into a really nice outdoor area with a fountain and some chairs and cafe tables. It struck me as odd to have a little cafe inside of such a restricted area, but I guess even the consulate officers need a place to take a break from work.
The consulate area was guarded by another set of guards who led me to the american citizen services section. It wasn't that crowded and It only took about 10 minutes to see a consular. He said basically the same thing the other guy said. He would call them and ask them what was taking so long. He said that was about all they could do. He told me about another case with the same company where a woman had waited over a year for her exit visa and had camped out in front of the embassy for weeks and still there was nothing they could do. I suppose he was saying this to assure me that they were doing all they could do, but it just made everything seem more hopeless than ever. I asked him if he thought I should submit the case to the ministry of labour. He advised against it. He explained that it would probably make the whole process take even longer. Anytime the ministry is involved, it adds a month or two to the whole process he told me. I thanked him, discouraged, and headed back outside.
The whole meeting had taken less than 15 minutes and I now had about 2 hours to kill before I met Caroline. I was pretty hungry, and I had forgotten to eat lunch. I didn't want to eat too much because Caroline was going to make dinner, but I figured I would need something to hold me over. So I set off in search of two things, Caroline's place, and the little shop for groceries she told me was near her house. It was a hot day so I decided to take off my hijab. After all, this was the DQ, I could have even taken off my abaya if I wanted to! I was nervous to go that far because there were a lot of men in thobes around, but man was it nice to feel the wind in my hair. It's funny how you forget about small joys like this so easily.
I meandered past a number of buildings including one for the ministry of tourism and culture in Saudi, which supposedly had a museum. I thought about trying to go in, but my growling stomach urged me on. I walked past a sign that said British Embassy and pointed, and I remembered that she lived very near the British Embassy because she had talked about a recent party with an Indian theme she had attended there and walked home from. So I turned and walked into a little covered walkway. There were a lot of business offices in this strip mall sort of area, there was a sign for IBM, Tyson, and The British Council. I realized I must have seen the sign for the British Council and not the British Embassy, but it was a good detour because I found a little shop like a 7-11. I bought some interesting looking vegetable chips, and almost bought some other candy and nuts, but I didn't want to spoil my appetite, so I stuck with the vegetable chips. While I was waiting to pay I overheard a little scuffle between the cashier and a customer, He was claiming discrimination. It wasn't clear what it was he wanted, but it was clear that he felt if he wasn't Saudi, the shop owner would have let him have it. He stormed out of the store, and I looked around at the faces of some of the other customers for some clue as to what had just happened, but they were all extremely busy avoiding looking anyone in the eyes. I paid and left to ponder the mysteries of the situation outdoors in the garden area.
I found a nice shady spot and sat down to read my book and finish my veggie chips in the great outdoors. It felt wonderful. The chips weren't terrible, but they also weren't great, kind of like eating those packing chips from the 80s that dissolved a little when you got them wet, seasoned with the packets from Raman noodles. It was enough to hold me over. I continued walking hoping I would eventually spot something familiar, or that Caroline would call. I walked past half a dozen more Embassies and the little shopping mall type area, but that seemed closed so I kept walking. I was just getting ready to ask someone for directions to the British Embassy when Caroline called. She was finished with work and was just waiting on the driver. She told me to head for roundabout 11 and told me the name of the neighbourhood she lived in. I told her I would start walking in that direction and we would probably both arrive around the same time.
Luckily, I could see round about 10 to my right, so I took a chance and figured roundabout 11 would be the next one on the left. I was right. Sure enough, in front of Roundabout 11 was a sign for the neighbourhood she lived in. I was a lot closer than I thought. So when I saw a path on the other side of roundabout 11 leading to the top of a hill, I figured I had time for a small detour. It was a steep climb, but it had been paved with little stone steps so it was pretty easy climbing. There were some bushes overgrown on the path and I thought about what a shame it was that this cool path clearly went unused. If I lived in the DQ, I would run this trail every morning and when I got to the top I would jump up and down like Rocky. Since I was walking and not running, I decided to forgo the celebration When I got to the top. On one side I could see the financial district of Riyadh in the distance. All of those skyscrapers had been built within the last 3 years. It was kind of amazing to think about really. Construction happened around the clock and 60 story buildings were finished in 6 months or less. On the other side, I could look out over the greenery of the DQ. It was like looking at two completely different geographies. On the one side, brown flat and concrete, on the other, hills and palm trees everywhere. I kept going on the path past the overlook and on the other side of the hill was a really cute little hidden picnic area. There was a spot for a camp fire and a stone picnic table that looked like something they would slay Aslan from the Chronicles of Narnia on. It was great. There were dead leaves and overgrown plants everywhere, but it would make a great spot to hang out in the evening and roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories. I was really mad that the Embassy had such strict rules about bringing things in. I didn't have my camera or my tablet or anything to take pictures with.
I would have stayed longer, but I figured I had better find Caroline's place. I went back down the hill and followed the sign to her neighbourhood. I walked past the Swiss Embassy and a small elementary school that had already let out for the day. I remembered Caroline saying that her place was next to a garden so I went into the garden next to the school. There was a nice small fountain in the middle of the garden and there were these little secluded bench areas like mini gazebos all around the fountain. there were climbing plants growing around all of the structures and the whole thing was lovely and shaded and beautiful. If you kept walking to the right, there was a small playground, and after that a fenced in tennis court. The path kept going, but it didn't look like there were any houses that way so I turned back. On the way out I saw a map and quickly realized why the garden wasn't helping me find the place. There were over 50 gardens in the DQ of various sizes. I had obviously not found the one near her house.
Caroline called again and let me know that she was home. I told her I was still on the way. Unlike the rest of Saudi, the DQ actually has street names, so I was able to tell her where I was. Unfortunately, that didn't really help her much since she didn't recognize the street name. I told her I would keep walking following the signs for her neighbourhood and I would arrive soon. I did keep going, and about 45 minutes and three wrong turns later, I finally found her place. Maybe I was secretly getting lost on purpose, just to keep enjoying the sunlight and being outside near green things.
Caroline made a nice dinner for us and we chatted about our work. Both of us were the kind of people who didn't really like sitting around doing nothing, but somehow, that's the situation we were both finding ourselves in at our various jobs. The owner of FATE's wife had had her baby, and so they had more or less taken the week off. Caroline was excited for them but was getting anxious sitting in an empty college waiting for students to arrive, and it wasn't much better at home. Her apartment was almost like a cave these days since all but one of the light-bulbs had burnt out. The ceilings were tall and she couldn't simply replace them herself. She had been waiting for them to fix it for going on two weeks now. There was always something. She told me she was seriously considering quitting if things didn't get moving soon. I told here that they hadn't (surprise, surprise) gotten me the iqama yet, so I was beginning the process of fighting for a final exit. She told me she knew the HR guy at the British School in Bahrain and happened to know they were looking for an English/Theater teacher for their lower school. She said she remembered from my CV I had some theatre experience and she could put me in touch with them if I wanted. I told her that would be great.
After dinner, we went for a walk, sans abaya. There is a 40 km long track around the whole perimeter of the DQ and people can bike jog or walk along it. She told me that strangely, she never really saw anyone else walking around. Occasionally she saw someone walking a dog or pushing a stroller, but other than that, it was pretty empty. I thought what a shame it was that so many people tried so hard to get a place here for all the amenities it offered, and then they never even used them. I'd like to think I would be out walking everyday if I was here, but to be honest, I'm just not sure that I would. Maybe I would get complacent like everyone else and end up spending my nights binge watching The Wonder Years. Who knows. We walked along the path for a while, and there were a lot of places like the one I had found at the top of the hill. There were out of the way secluded fire pits and picnic tables, and sometimes just little benches built into the side of the path. Caroline and joked that it seemed ironic that someone had basically built a serious of hidden make-out spots all over this walking path. I think in reality they were made so families could have barbecues, and the women could uncover and enjoy their time with the family feeling secure that no one would see her out in the open. Still, if you were a teenager, you couldn't ask for a better make out spot.
When it got dark we turned back, I'm sure we had only seen a fraction of what the DQ had to offer, but I was definitely jealous. I kept thinking, this could be mine, could have been mine, if only the complicated Saudi labour laws didn't get in the way. I figured I would get back home so that I could go and not work the next day, but Caroline suggested we watch a movie or a TV show or something, and I realized that despite our very different living situations, Caroline was just as lonely as I was.
We spent the rest of the evening watching the first episode of the Walking Dead and I was really glad to have her company for that. I wanted to keep watching the series on my own, but doubted I would ever do it alone or at night. e joked about how if you stand in the center of a mall and watch all the abaya clad figures shuffling past, they were pretty much just like the walking dead.
When it started to get late I called a few taxi drivers I knew, but not many of them answered and the ones who did didn't want to come to the DQ. She called her driver and he wasn't around. We tried looking up some cab companies on the internet but had very little success. I was surprised that a system like uber taxi hadn't taken hold here. I mean, after all, everyone has a cell phone, and half the population pretty much always takes taxis. Caroline pointed out that it would never work for Saudi's who were very mistrustful of drivers and liked to stick with just one. I teased her because she is the same way. I told her it was probably because the system already works pretty well. I've never waited longer than 5 minutes for a taxi by just standing outside on the corner and waiting. So that is what we finally did.
She walked me to the gate and we stood there, me in my abaya, here without anything, waiting for a taxi to drive by. I felt uncomfortable this close to the outside world and Caroline without her abaya. She felt uncomfortable being practically naked compared to me all bundled up. We had to wait a few minutes, but eventually a driver came by. He didn't have an official taxi sign on the roof, but he did have a meter, and Caroline very studiously took down his plate number just in case. I promised to call her as soon as I got home and we parted ways. Not a bad way to spend a Wednesday night.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Still No Iqama
Tuesday came and went, and big surprise. No iqama. So I started to take steps toward the long process of getting out. I called Suleiman and reminded him that he had broken his promise, that there was no iqama, so now I just wanted to leave. I wanted to get my final exit and go. Suleiman insisted it wasn't his fault and that the problem was with my old company and that I needed to talk to them. It was a familiar story. He insisted that if they couldn't make the transfer, they also couldn't make the final exit, so I might as well stay and get paid in the meantime. He makes a good point.
I still called the old company anyway. They told me next Sunday they should be able to do something for sure, but at the moment they couldn't do anything.
I decided I would visit my old friends at the US embassy and see if anything could be done. After all, I had officially resigned from this company in August. It was now mid -October. Surely there was a way to get me out by now. So I made an appointment to see them on Wednesday. Still, I didn't have much faith that they would be able to do anything. After all, they had already told me once before that basically, all the could do was call and nag the company. I was hoping though that since my contract had been over so long ago, they might take my complaint more seriously now.
Luckily, I wasn't teaching yet, so I didn't feel guilty about leaving work early to go to the ministry of labour and start the paperwork for a final exit complaint. By now I was an old pro at getting taxi's and navigating through the lines of Philippine workers to get to the women's office. The woman recognized me and welcomed me back. I get the feeling a lot of people spend months coming and going from this office to get what they need from their employers. She handed me the forms I would need to fill out, which were all in Arabic, and she told me they would need to be filled out in Arabic. She told me they weren't allowed to help translate the paperwork or to fill it out for us. I thanked her and told her I would bring it back filled out tomorrow, inshallah.
By the time I got back to the college, it was nearly time to go, so I couldn't find any of the other English Teachers to help me translate the forms. I figured that I could do my best with Google translate at home, and have them help me fix everything the next day. I made two copies of each form so I could scribble all over one of them and make a rough draft of another and save the original for the final copy. Turns out, most of it was pretty simple to translate. Name, name of company, iqama number, address.... Turns out the hardest part of the form was actually figuring out what it said, but finding the information to make it complete. Addresses here are pretty much non-existent, so I didn't exactly know what to put for the company, let alone my own address. It was pretty frustrating. I also had no iqama, and therefore no iqama number. Crazy. There was a box to list your demands. A teacher from my new now old company who had been through it all before had advised me that I should not only ask for an exit visa, but also a ticket home and payment for the time since August I had been waiting. I thought that was kind of extreme especially since I had been working in the meantime, though they didn't know that. She explained that it gave you bargaining room. In the end I would probably only get the ticket and the final exit, but that way they would feel like they still came out ahead, and I would get a ticket home. Sounded like good advice.
The next day was Wednesday and the women at work were impressed with my Arabic writing. I was sure it wasn't any better than the average first graders, but I was still flattered. They helped me reword a few things, and told me the name of the road I lived on so I could add that to my address. By the time I copied it in pen to the original, I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I decided that I should probably wait until after I spoke with the embassy to submit the paperwork in case they had a faster route. The woman had told me it would probably take about a month to assign a court date for my complaint. I figured there wasn't much difference if I submitted the paperwork on Wed. or on Thursday. No matter what, it looked like I was in for a battle, and probably not a short one.
I still called the old company anyway. They told me next Sunday they should be able to do something for sure, but at the moment they couldn't do anything.
I decided I would visit my old friends at the US embassy and see if anything could be done. After all, I had officially resigned from this company in August. It was now mid -October. Surely there was a way to get me out by now. So I made an appointment to see them on Wednesday. Still, I didn't have much faith that they would be able to do anything. After all, they had already told me once before that basically, all the could do was call and nag the company. I was hoping though that since my contract had been over so long ago, they might take my complaint more seriously now.
Luckily, I wasn't teaching yet, so I didn't feel guilty about leaving work early to go to the ministry of labour and start the paperwork for a final exit complaint. By now I was an old pro at getting taxi's and navigating through the lines of Philippine workers to get to the women's office. The woman recognized me and welcomed me back. I get the feeling a lot of people spend months coming and going from this office to get what they need from their employers. She handed me the forms I would need to fill out, which were all in Arabic, and she told me they would need to be filled out in Arabic. She told me they weren't allowed to help translate the paperwork or to fill it out for us. I thanked her and told her I would bring it back filled out tomorrow, inshallah.
By the time I got back to the college, it was nearly time to go, so I couldn't find any of the other English Teachers to help me translate the forms. I figured that I could do my best with Google translate at home, and have them help me fix everything the next day. I made two copies of each form so I could scribble all over one of them and make a rough draft of another and save the original for the final copy. Turns out, most of it was pretty simple to translate. Name, name of company, iqama number, address.... Turns out the hardest part of the form was actually figuring out what it said, but finding the information to make it complete. Addresses here are pretty much non-existent, so I didn't exactly know what to put for the company, let alone my own address. It was pretty frustrating. I also had no iqama, and therefore no iqama number. Crazy. There was a box to list your demands. A teacher from my new now old company who had been through it all before had advised me that I should not only ask for an exit visa, but also a ticket home and payment for the time since August I had been waiting. I thought that was kind of extreme especially since I had been working in the meantime, though they didn't know that. She explained that it gave you bargaining room. In the end I would probably only get the ticket and the final exit, but that way they would feel like they still came out ahead, and I would get a ticket home. Sounded like good advice.
The next day was Wednesday and the women at work were impressed with my Arabic writing. I was sure it wasn't any better than the average first graders, but I was still flattered. They helped me reword a few things, and told me the name of the road I lived on so I could add that to my address. By the time I copied it in pen to the original, I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I decided that I should probably wait until after I spoke with the embassy to submit the paperwork in case they had a faster route. The woman had told me it would probably take about a month to assign a court date for my complaint. I figured there wasn't much difference if I submitted the paperwork on Wed. or on Thursday. No matter what, it looked like I was in for a battle, and probably not a short one.
Friday, October 17, 2014
Cafés, Cables, and Caroline
Even though I didn't end up taking the FATE job, Caroline, the British woman who initially interviewed me kept in touch. We were both westerners new to Riyadh, and it's nice to be able to talk to someone who is in the same boat as you are.
We decided to meet up on Friday for lunch. Even though this sounds like a simple thing, it actually requires a lot of planning. We both have to secure a driver. Then we have to find a place with a family section so that we can eat there. We settled on a mall near the Diplomatic Quarter where she lived, there was a nice Café she knew of there, and since I didn't know anywhere to go, I deferred to her judgement.
A series of unfortunate events guaranteed that our day wouldn't go as planed. One of the problems was that I had asked them to install internet in the housing. Actually this was a point of contention, since in the initial interview and a few times after that, they told me that internet would be included in the housing, and then when I pointed out that there wasn't any internet, they told me that I would have to pay for it. When I pointed out that it was in the contract, they begrudgingly relented. So initially they told me that they would come to install it Thursday night. Thursday came and went and they didn't come. Friday morning I went to ask about it, and they told me they would come after prayer around 1:30pm. This was unfortunate, since Caroline and I had agreed to meet at 12pm, and it was probably 30 or 40 minutes away from my house, making lunch a tight squeeze.
I called Caroline to see if she wanted to reschedule, but since she had already booked a driver, we decided to just go for it. After all, what were the chances that they would come at all, let alone come on time? We figured we could chance it.
I hoped in a taxi and told him the name of the mall. When we arrived, the place was deserted. He asked me if I was sure, and I wasn't, but I paid him and went in anyway. Friday mornings in Saudi are the quietest part of the week because Friday is the day of worship, so most people stay home with their families or go to the mosque to worship. No one really goes out until after 4pm. We sort of forgot to take this into account when we made our plans.
So I walked into the mall and it was completely empty and all the stores were closed. I felt like I had just walked into an apocalypse movie. I resisted the urge to call out, Hello? Is anybody there? I walked toward the escalator since Caroline had told me the Café was on the second floor. I was walking slowly and cautiously, expecting someone to come out and tell me the mall was closed and I needed to leave. It was eerily quiet. Suddenly I heard a noise and I jumped three feet into the air. It was just a man at the other end of the mall clearing his throat. He was the only other living thing in the place, or so it seemed, and I didn't want to stick around to see if he was coming closer. I took the escalator steps two at a time. Going up an escalator when it's off is a weird enough experience on its own, but taking them two at a time with the feeling that someone is after you is really strange. Logically, I knew I was being silly. But you walk around a deserted mall alone and see if it doesn't jangle your nerves.
When I got to the second floor I relaxed a little. Caroline would be there waiting for me at a Café and then it wouldn't be so strange. The mall wasn't that big, just a long skinny rectangle. I made my way to the far end to what looked like a coffee shop but turned out to sell candy. When I made it all the way to one end with no Café and no Caroline, I started to worry again. I headed to the other end of the floor, hoping there was a Café there. It didn't take long to realize there wasn't at least not anything that was open. I called Caroline. She insisted she was there on the second floor waiting for me. I told her I was on the second floor and didn't see her anywhere. Now, this was extra strange since there was literally no one around. I suddenly got the feeling maybe I had gone to the wrong mall. I confirmed with Caroline, "You are at the Granada Mall, right?" "Yup, she said. Second floor. I'm near a cafe with a green and white logo... I should be able to see you...." Having already walked the whole length of the second floor, I knew there was no cafe with a green and white logo. Something was wrong. Suddenly, It came to me. "Wait, you must mean the British second floor, right?, cause I'm on the American second floor. I'll be right up." I can't believe that I forgot the British have the strange habit of calling the first floor the ground floor, and the first floor the second floor and so on. So Caroline had been waiting for me on the third floor the whole time. Silly Brits.
Turns out, there wasn't really any rush. The cafe was closed and wouldn't open until 2pm. We decided we could hang around in the mall for a little while, then head back to my place just in case the internet installers showed up. I had some pasta I could make, or there was a shawarma place near my house. I had never actually been there, but I figured it couldn't be so bad. Besides, Caroline wanted to see how the other half lived, those of us not lucky enough to be in the Diplomatic Quarter.
When I showed her my apartment, she was quiet taken aback by my digs. I could tell she was secretly jealous of my amazing furniture. Before she could get over her initial shock, there was a knock on the door. They had come to install the internet, and they were more or less on time. We were both amazed. We put our abayas back on and stood back to watch. Three guys came in with a long spool of blue cable and a handful of tools. This seemed much more complicated than was strictly necessary. The quickest and probably cheapest internet solution was to buy a wireless router like they had installed at my old company. Caroline and I speculated that they needed the cable because they were splicing in on someone else's internet.
They came into the room and spent a lot of time speculating on the best way to run the cable. First they tried to snake it through the air conditioning unit itself into the outside. Thankfully one of them had the sense to point out that it wasn't safe. So instead, they pulled back the trim around the AC unit and threaded it through the considerable gap there. Then one of them opened the window and leaned half way out feeding cable outside. The third man ran downstairs to catch the cable from the outside and connect it to, who knows where. All this went pretty smoothly, until they took the router out of the box and tried to actually connect it.
For reasons unknown, Saudi outlets are consistently inconsistent. Sometimes they are the large three pin plugs common in the rest of the Middle East, sometimes they are the two-pin European style, and other times they use American plugs. The basic rule to follow seems to be that whatever plug style the thing you want to plug in is, the outlet will be incompatible. I offered up my small stash of adapters. I had a European to US, a US to Middle East, but not what we actually needed which was Middle East to European. The three men looked at the plug situation and did what all men faced with an obstacle do. They thought of the most difficult, complicated solution possible and decided to try it. They were on the verge of cutting off one of the pins on the plug so that it would fit into another adapter which they would then fit into a third, and then finally plug it into the wall, when thankfully, one of the men stopped the guy. He said some things in Arabic, and then left, presumably to buy the correct adaptor.
The two men and Caroline and I sat and stared at each other in uncomfortable silence for a while while we waited for the guy to return. It didn't take long. He brought the longest extension cord / power socket known to man, and thankfully, It had all three plug styles built in so it was guaranteed to work. With everything finally plugged in, it was time for the moment of truth. We powered up my laptop and he typed in the password and just like that, I finally had internet! Woo Hoo!
The guys tacked the trim around the AC unit back into place using the side of a wrench as a hammer. Then they piled up all the extra cables and wires in a corner in an attempt to tidy up and left.
Caroline and I just looked at each other and laughed. "Thank you for giving me a truly Saudi Experience." she said. "When you live in the DQ with Embassy parties every weekend, you can forget." I nodded. "You'll have to invite me to one so I can see what it's like." Sure thing, she said. And we left to eat our long delayed meal at a Moraccan Restaurant with a nice view of the Kingdom tower.
When we parted ways, her climbing into her trusted drivers van, and me waiting for a random taxi to swing by, she told me how much she enjoyed seeing my neck of the woods. And I'm sure she had. But I'm also sure that the unspoken end of that sentence was, "but I'm happy they aren't my woods."
We decided to meet up on Friday for lunch. Even though this sounds like a simple thing, it actually requires a lot of planning. We both have to secure a driver. Then we have to find a place with a family section so that we can eat there. We settled on a mall near the Diplomatic Quarter where she lived, there was a nice Café she knew of there, and since I didn't know anywhere to go, I deferred to her judgement.
A series of unfortunate events guaranteed that our day wouldn't go as planed. One of the problems was that I had asked them to install internet in the housing. Actually this was a point of contention, since in the initial interview and a few times after that, they told me that internet would be included in the housing, and then when I pointed out that there wasn't any internet, they told me that I would have to pay for it. When I pointed out that it was in the contract, they begrudgingly relented. So initially they told me that they would come to install it Thursday night. Thursday came and went and they didn't come. Friday morning I went to ask about it, and they told me they would come after prayer around 1:30pm. This was unfortunate, since Caroline and I had agreed to meet at 12pm, and it was probably 30 or 40 minutes away from my house, making lunch a tight squeeze.
I called Caroline to see if she wanted to reschedule, but since she had already booked a driver, we decided to just go for it. After all, what were the chances that they would come at all, let alone come on time? We figured we could chance it.
I hoped in a taxi and told him the name of the mall. When we arrived, the place was deserted. He asked me if I was sure, and I wasn't, but I paid him and went in anyway. Friday mornings in Saudi are the quietest part of the week because Friday is the day of worship, so most people stay home with their families or go to the mosque to worship. No one really goes out until after 4pm. We sort of forgot to take this into account when we made our plans.
So I walked into the mall and it was completely empty and all the stores were closed. I felt like I had just walked into an apocalypse movie. I resisted the urge to call out, Hello? Is anybody there? I walked toward the escalator since Caroline had told me the Café was on the second floor. I was walking slowly and cautiously, expecting someone to come out and tell me the mall was closed and I needed to leave. It was eerily quiet. Suddenly I heard a noise and I jumped three feet into the air. It was just a man at the other end of the mall clearing his throat. He was the only other living thing in the place, or so it seemed, and I didn't want to stick around to see if he was coming closer. I took the escalator steps two at a time. Going up an escalator when it's off is a weird enough experience on its own, but taking them two at a time with the feeling that someone is after you is really strange. Logically, I knew I was being silly. But you walk around a deserted mall alone and see if it doesn't jangle your nerves.
When I got to the second floor I relaxed a little. Caroline would be there waiting for me at a Café and then it wouldn't be so strange. The mall wasn't that big, just a long skinny rectangle. I made my way to the far end to what looked like a coffee shop but turned out to sell candy. When I made it all the way to one end with no Café and no Caroline, I started to worry again. I headed to the other end of the floor, hoping there was a Café there. It didn't take long to realize there wasn't at least not anything that was open. I called Caroline. She insisted she was there on the second floor waiting for me. I told her I was on the second floor and didn't see her anywhere. Now, this was extra strange since there was literally no one around. I suddenly got the feeling maybe I had gone to the wrong mall. I confirmed with Caroline, "You are at the Granada Mall, right?" "Yup, she said. Second floor. I'm near a cafe with a green and white logo... I should be able to see you...." Having already walked the whole length of the second floor, I knew there was no cafe with a green and white logo. Something was wrong. Suddenly, It came to me. "Wait, you must mean the British second floor, right?, cause I'm on the American second floor. I'll be right up." I can't believe that I forgot the British have the strange habit of calling the first floor the ground floor, and the first floor the second floor and so on. So Caroline had been waiting for me on the third floor the whole time. Silly Brits.
Turns out, there wasn't really any rush. The cafe was closed and wouldn't open until 2pm. We decided we could hang around in the mall for a little while, then head back to my place just in case the internet installers showed up. I had some pasta I could make, or there was a shawarma place near my house. I had never actually been there, but I figured it couldn't be so bad. Besides, Caroline wanted to see how the other half lived, those of us not lucky enough to be in the Diplomatic Quarter.
When I showed her my apartment, she was quiet taken aback by my digs. I could tell she was secretly jealous of my amazing furniture. Before she could get over her initial shock, there was a knock on the door. They had come to install the internet, and they were more or less on time. We were both amazed. We put our abayas back on and stood back to watch. Three guys came in with a long spool of blue cable and a handful of tools. This seemed much more complicated than was strictly necessary. The quickest and probably cheapest internet solution was to buy a wireless router like they had installed at my old company. Caroline and I speculated that they needed the cable because they were splicing in on someone else's internet.
They came into the room and spent a lot of time speculating on the best way to run the cable. First they tried to snake it through the air conditioning unit itself into the outside. Thankfully one of them had the sense to point out that it wasn't safe. So instead, they pulled back the trim around the AC unit and threaded it through the considerable gap there. Then one of them opened the window and leaned half way out feeding cable outside. The third man ran downstairs to catch the cable from the outside and connect it to, who knows where. All this went pretty smoothly, until they took the router out of the box and tried to actually connect it.
For reasons unknown, Saudi outlets are consistently inconsistent. Sometimes they are the large three pin plugs common in the rest of the Middle East, sometimes they are the two-pin European style, and other times they use American plugs. The basic rule to follow seems to be that whatever plug style the thing you want to plug in is, the outlet will be incompatible. I offered up my small stash of adapters. I had a European to US, a US to Middle East, but not what we actually needed which was Middle East to European. The three men looked at the plug situation and did what all men faced with an obstacle do. They thought of the most difficult, complicated solution possible and decided to try it. They were on the verge of cutting off one of the pins on the plug so that it would fit into another adapter which they would then fit into a third, and then finally plug it into the wall, when thankfully, one of the men stopped the guy. He said some things in Arabic, and then left, presumably to buy the correct adaptor.
The two men and Caroline and I sat and stared at each other in uncomfortable silence for a while while we waited for the guy to return. It didn't take long. He brought the longest extension cord / power socket known to man, and thankfully, It had all three plug styles built in so it was guaranteed to work. With everything finally plugged in, it was time for the moment of truth. We powered up my laptop and he typed in the password and just like that, I finally had internet! Woo Hoo!
The guys tacked the trim around the AC unit back into place using the side of a wrench as a hammer. Then they piled up all the extra cables and wires in a corner in an attempt to tidy up and left.
Caroline and I just looked at each other and laughed. "Thank you for giving me a truly Saudi Experience." she said. "When you live in the DQ with Embassy parties every weekend, you can forget." I nodded. "You'll have to invite me to one so I can see what it's like." Sure thing, she said. And we left to eat our long delayed meal at a Moraccan Restaurant with a nice view of the Kingdom tower.
When we parted ways, her climbing into her trusted drivers van, and me waiting for a random taxi to swing by, she told me how much she enjoyed seeing my neck of the woods. And I'm sure she had. But I'm also sure that the unspoken end of that sentence was, "but I'm happy they aren't my woods."
Thursday, October 16, 2014
The Waiting Game
Everyday I went into work and sat and waited for something to happen. At first I tried asking if there was anything I could do, plan lessons, take over classes, or grade papers or anything, but everyone just shrugged. From what I could tell, everyone was more or less doing the same thing as me: nothing. Of course, every once in a while they would leave to go teach a lecture, but they were always back in an hour or so. This was kind of strange because when I asked about the teaching load, and how many classes everyone taught, they all insisted they were very busy. Still, we all spent a lot of time sitting in the office talking and drinking coffee, and I never saw them do anything but just sit around, playing on their phones or looking around.
About three of the ten women in the office seemed to speak some English, and at first I was really confused by this because I thought they were all English teachers. As it turns out, there were only three English teachers were in this office, the rest taught something related to dentistry or nursing or medicine. Apparently somewhere there was another office with other English teachers, but I never found it and no one ever offered to show it to me, or introduce me to the rest of the English department staff. I had a sneaking suspicion that they may not know themselves. One of the women spent at least an hour every morning straightening her hair. The funny thing about that was that her hair was beautiful all wavy and curly, and when she straightened it she looked so much more plain and dull. I hopped she was doing it more out of sheer boredom than any real belief that she was improving her looks.
The two part-time English Teachers got to leave everyday more or less by noon, but the full timers like me were all stuck in the office until 3pm everyday. I started bringing my laptop into work everyday and that wasn't so bad. It got even better when they came to give me the log in and password to the wireless internet. I spent most mornings checking email, practising Arabic, and sorting out all the files on my computer that I have collected over the years. Whenever I needed to stretch my legs I would walk over to Zaineb's office and ask if my housing was ready yet. "Not yet." was always her standard answer. As the days passed, my visions of exactly what they were doing to improve the place grew. My expectations had been low at first. I thought they would probably clean it, and that was all. On day two I thought they might be getting new furniture or something. By day three, a combination of being bored in the office, and the fact that hope springs eternal, had me picturing new paint on the walls and actual cabinets in the "kitchen/closet/hallway".
So when they told me the place was ready to move into on Thursday just before the weekend, I was feeling pretty excited. They took me to see it first and give it the okay before we went to get all my stuff from the hotel. I was disappointed to find out that "fixing" up the place meant that they had bought a refrigerator, a water dispenser and a "new" rug that came pre-stained so I wouldn't have to feel bad if I got I spilled anything on it. There was also a box with an assortment of random kitchen supplies. A new knife and cutting board, a few chipped mugs. One cracked pitcher, and a single fork inside a 12 pack of spoons. What I was going to do with 12 spoons and only one fork, I wasn't quiet sure.
I had more or less left everything in the suitcase during the two weeks that I was at the hotel, so packing up and moving to the new place was pretty easy. Of course, I did have the help of the hotel doorman and the taxi driver, so maybe I'm underestimating how difficult it was. I thought about not unpacking at my new place in case they didn't get my iqama by Tuesday. but part of me knew that even if they didn't have it, I would still have to fight to get the exit visa, so I wasn't going to be leaving any time soon.
I have to say that after a few hours of cleaning, and another few hours of re-arranging, and another hour or so of unpacking, it was starting to feel a little like home.
About three of the ten women in the office seemed to speak some English, and at first I was really confused by this because I thought they were all English teachers. As it turns out, there were only three English teachers were in this office, the rest taught something related to dentistry or nursing or medicine. Apparently somewhere there was another office with other English teachers, but I never found it and no one ever offered to show it to me, or introduce me to the rest of the English department staff. I had a sneaking suspicion that they may not know themselves. One of the women spent at least an hour every morning straightening her hair. The funny thing about that was that her hair was beautiful all wavy and curly, and when she straightened it she looked so much more plain and dull. I hopped she was doing it more out of sheer boredom than any real belief that she was improving her looks.
The two part-time English Teachers got to leave everyday more or less by noon, but the full timers like me were all stuck in the office until 3pm everyday. I started bringing my laptop into work everyday and that wasn't so bad. It got even better when they came to give me the log in and password to the wireless internet. I spent most mornings checking email, practising Arabic, and sorting out all the files on my computer that I have collected over the years. Whenever I needed to stretch my legs I would walk over to Zaineb's office and ask if my housing was ready yet. "Not yet." was always her standard answer. As the days passed, my visions of exactly what they were doing to improve the place grew. My expectations had been low at first. I thought they would probably clean it, and that was all. On day two I thought they might be getting new furniture or something. By day three, a combination of being bored in the office, and the fact that hope springs eternal, had me picturing new paint on the walls and actual cabinets in the "kitchen/closet/hallway".
So when they told me the place was ready to move into on Thursday just before the weekend, I was feeling pretty excited. They took me to see it first and give it the okay before we went to get all my stuff from the hotel. I was disappointed to find out that "fixing" up the place meant that they had bought a refrigerator, a water dispenser and a "new" rug that came pre-stained so I wouldn't have to feel bad if I got I spilled anything on it. There was also a box with an assortment of random kitchen supplies. A new knife and cutting board, a few chipped mugs. One cracked pitcher, and a single fork inside a 12 pack of spoons. What I was going to do with 12 spoons and only one fork, I wasn't quiet sure.
I had more or less left everything in the suitcase during the two weeks that I was at the hotel, so packing up and moving to the new place was pretty easy. Of course, I did have the help of the hotel doorman and the taxi driver, so maybe I'm underestimating how difficult it was. I thought about not unpacking at my new place in case they didn't get my iqama by Tuesday. but part of me knew that even if they didn't have it, I would still have to fight to get the exit visa, so I wasn't going to be leaving any time soon.
I have to say that after a few hours of cleaning, and another few hours of re-arranging, and another hour or so of unpacking, it was starting to feel a little like home.
The Interview
One of the jobs I had applied for during my crazy spree of applications during the Eid Holiday was for an English language writer for a local publishing company. It was one of those long shot things, I don't really have any professional writing experience, but it's something I enjoy doing and have always thought about doing, so I figured, why not apply? When I didn't hear anything back, I more or less forgot that I had ever applied. Then, on Sunday, they called out of the blue to have an interview on Thursday.
So Thursday afternoon, I left work a little early, which was no big deal since I wasn't doing anything anyway. I got a taxi to take me to the office which was in the downtown area of Riyadh. I left an hour early for the interview in case the taxi driver didn't know where it was and we got lost trying to find it. Turns out, whenever you leave early in case the worst should happen, the worst never happens. The driver knew exactly where to go and we had almost no traffic. I found myself in front of the office building 45 minutes early.
I tried to kill some time by checking out the shops on the ground floor of the office building, but since one was a wool cloth wholeseller and the other sold thobes (men's robes) there was only so much window shopping I could do. Finally, I figured that 15 minutes early was a reasonable amount of earliness, so I went upstairs the the publishing company's office.
There were two doors, and I wasn't sure which one I should enter. Turns out both doors were locked. I looked around and saw what looked like the old-school drive through window speakers. I pushed the button and could hear a buzzing inside the office. I figured that meant that someone would come soon to open the door. I waited. It's a funny thing about waiting. I told myself I would wait 5 minutes. But standing in a hallway in a deserted looking office building is a surprisingly long 5 minutes. I think I only lasted 3 before I decided to ring it again. Finally, someone came to the door and let me in.
I sat in the small waiting area and picked up one of the magazines they published. The issue was all about traveling in the southern part of Saudi. I was amazed. It was beautiful. All I had ever seen of Saudi was concete jungle. I had no idea the desert could be so beautiful. The magazine made it seem like there was actually the possibility of real tourism here. I was impressed. I figured I should probably read some of the stories as well and not just look at the pictures. I was about a page into an article on historic Jeddah when May came out to let me know they were finishing up a birthday party for a colleague and they would be ready soon.
May came and brought me to the conference room and she asked me about my iqama right away and I started in on the whole story. I was just about finished when the head of the company cam in and I had to start the whole thing again. I was only about half way through this time when the third interviewer, Nick, head of the English department came in and I had to start again for the third time. By now I had whittled the story down to the bare bones. The company that brought me did something illegal with my paperwork, and because of this I was in a sort of limbo. I couldn't be transfered or given a final exit or anything really for reasons that no one fully understands, aside from its a sort of Catch 22 situation.
Formalities asid, we got into the interview portion, which was pretty standard. Then, after the head of the company left, I was left with Nick and May. They seemed to get along really well together and had a nice raport. Nick seemed sort of lost and confesed he hadn't really ever been in charge of hiring before and so didn't really no what to do next and wasn't sure what questions to ask. He ended up asking me what kind of questions I would ask if I were the interviewer, which turned out to be a kind of brilliant question. If I'm ever in a postition to interview someone I will ask them this question because I think it revealed to them a lot about what the job was and what kind of work enviorment was important to me.
The last task was to take home some of their publications, read them, and then over the weekend to write two sample pieces. I was pretty excited to do it and got started right away. I read through the Saudi Voyager magazine, which was sort of two magazines in one; the front half was an industry specific magazine announcing awards in the tourism industry, and the second was geared toward expats who would want to travel in the kingdom. The first assignment was to take a 3 page press release about a new initiative to get young Saudi's more interested in thier heritage by taking them to various local historical sites on school trips and rewrite it down to 100 words. Since a good portion of the press release was repetitive praise of the Prince in charge of the project, it was pretty easy to cut it down. What was hard was trying to find any of the facts that would normally seem like the most important part of the article. There was no mention of the age group of the students, when the program would start, where they would take them, or hhow much it would cost and who was paying. So basically, there was a name for the project and that was about all. If these were the kinds of press releases we usually got, I could see how producing good journalism here would be very difficult.
The second piece was a travel journalism sort of story, and I chose to write about the salt flats since that was fresh in my mind. It was a little cheesy but I think it was still okay. I threw in some pictures I took to help make a good impression.
Nick told me they had a few other candidates to interview, and since I couldln't really be transfered anyway and had already started with the medical and dental school technically, I figured it was unlikely anything would come of it. But it was still a really fun experience. And hey, I got a free magazine out of it, so that's something.
So Thursday afternoon, I left work a little early, which was no big deal since I wasn't doing anything anyway. I got a taxi to take me to the office which was in the downtown area of Riyadh. I left an hour early for the interview in case the taxi driver didn't know where it was and we got lost trying to find it. Turns out, whenever you leave early in case the worst should happen, the worst never happens. The driver knew exactly where to go and we had almost no traffic. I found myself in front of the office building 45 minutes early.
I tried to kill some time by checking out the shops on the ground floor of the office building, but since one was a wool cloth wholeseller and the other sold thobes (men's robes) there was only so much window shopping I could do. Finally, I figured that 15 minutes early was a reasonable amount of earliness, so I went upstairs the the publishing company's office.
There were two doors, and I wasn't sure which one I should enter. Turns out both doors were locked. I looked around and saw what looked like the old-school drive through window speakers. I pushed the button and could hear a buzzing inside the office. I figured that meant that someone would come soon to open the door. I waited. It's a funny thing about waiting. I told myself I would wait 5 minutes. But standing in a hallway in a deserted looking office building is a surprisingly long 5 minutes. I think I only lasted 3 before I decided to ring it again. Finally, someone came to the door and let me in.
I sat in the small waiting area and picked up one of the magazines they published. The issue was all about traveling in the southern part of Saudi. I was amazed. It was beautiful. All I had ever seen of Saudi was concete jungle. I had no idea the desert could be so beautiful. The magazine made it seem like there was actually the possibility of real tourism here. I was impressed. I figured I should probably read some of the stories as well and not just look at the pictures. I was about a page into an article on historic Jeddah when May came out to let me know they were finishing up a birthday party for a colleague and they would be ready soon.
May came and brought me to the conference room and she asked me about my iqama right away and I started in on the whole story. I was just about finished when the head of the company cam in and I had to start the whole thing again. I was only about half way through this time when the third interviewer, Nick, head of the English department came in and I had to start again for the third time. By now I had whittled the story down to the bare bones. The company that brought me did something illegal with my paperwork, and because of this I was in a sort of limbo. I couldn't be transfered or given a final exit or anything really for reasons that no one fully understands, aside from its a sort of Catch 22 situation.
Formalities asid, we got into the interview portion, which was pretty standard. Then, after the head of the company left, I was left with Nick and May. They seemed to get along really well together and had a nice raport. Nick seemed sort of lost and confesed he hadn't really ever been in charge of hiring before and so didn't really no what to do next and wasn't sure what questions to ask. He ended up asking me what kind of questions I would ask if I were the interviewer, which turned out to be a kind of brilliant question. If I'm ever in a postition to interview someone I will ask them this question because I think it revealed to them a lot about what the job was and what kind of work enviorment was important to me.
The last task was to take home some of their publications, read them, and then over the weekend to write two sample pieces. I was pretty excited to do it and got started right away. I read through the Saudi Voyager magazine, which was sort of two magazines in one; the front half was an industry specific magazine announcing awards in the tourism industry, and the second was geared toward expats who would want to travel in the kingdom. The first assignment was to take a 3 page press release about a new initiative to get young Saudi's more interested in thier heritage by taking them to various local historical sites on school trips and rewrite it down to 100 words. Since a good portion of the press release was repetitive praise of the Prince in charge of the project, it was pretty easy to cut it down. What was hard was trying to find any of the facts that would normally seem like the most important part of the article. There was no mention of the age group of the students, when the program would start, where they would take them, or hhow much it would cost and who was paying. So basically, there was a name for the project and that was about all. If these were the kinds of press releases we usually got, I could see how producing good journalism here would be very difficult.
The second piece was a travel journalism sort of story, and I chose to write about the salt flats since that was fresh in my mind. It was a little cheesy but I think it was still okay. I threw in some pictures I took to help make a good impression.
Nick told me they had a few other candidates to interview, and since I couldln't really be transfered anyway and had already started with the medical and dental school technically, I figured it was unlikely anything would come of it. But it was still a really fun experience. And hey, I got a free magazine out of it, so that's something.
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