Resigning: Day 1

I walked into the office and remembered that Osama and Mohammed's offices were upstairs, so I went upstairs. Then, I seemed to remember that the offices were upstairs on the right, so I went to the right. I poked my head into several offices, none of which were familiar, and all of which were full of men in thobes looking at me suspiciously. Finally I broke down and asked a friendly looking cleaner to point me to Osama's office. At the back of the hallway, we turned left down a dusty hallway lined with airport lounge chairs and a bookcase and there on the right, hidden behind the bookcase, was the office. It was crowded with people waiting to see Osama. In the outer office, Faisal - the finance guy, and Mohammed - the guy who seemed to handle a little of everything had desks and a few chairs for people waiting. Osama was in the inner office with a sign saying 'meeting in progress' permenantly attached to the door.

Luckily, one of the chairs was empty, and remembering my two hour wait when I first arrived, I settled in to wait. There were two guys waiting and another woman waiting with me. As you do in these situations, we traded war stories. The girl was offered a position in Al Jouf, but decided not to take it. She was waiting to tell Osama that she didn't want to go, and see if they could get her an in interview at Princess Nora University. Another guy was trying to get his final exit visa before his iqama expired. A third guy had just returned from his yearly vacation, only to be told that they were terminating his contract. Why they didn't terminate it before he came back to Saudi, or better, before he left to go on vacation, is beyond him. He was fighting for his job back since he had just renewed his lease on his apartment and had a car here and a lot of other loose ends. We moved on from our specific circumstances to the worst case horror stories we had all heard. Someone hadn't been paid in 4 months. Someone else had been waiting for a final exit for three months. One woman had been waiting to leave for just under a year, and eventally left without having been paid at all for the whole year even though it was their fault she couldn't leave. This wasn't boding well. We moved on to discussing details of the recent contract losses. We all agreed that the company was a sinking ship. They had lost over half of their contracts in the last month. Next year, they would have even less. Within five years they would have none. One by one we watched each other go in, and come out again. Their faces betraying the various degrees of success they were having or not having.

Finally it was my turn. Mohammed brought me in, and sat me down with Osama. They asked me what they could do to get me to stay. They said they didn't want me to leave. They said they knew I was a good teacher, and that I should stay. I wondered why they were laying it on so thick. For one thing, Mohammed did not even recognize me when I arrived. For another, in the 5 months I was working, I'd only taught one session of summer school, in which no one ever observed my work. I didn't know what they could possilby be basing their praise of my teaching skills on. Still, it felt nice. Compliments, even empty ones go a long way. They told me they wanted me to speak with the Vice President about the housing situation. They told me if they knew people were quiting because of the housing, maybe they would change it. I told them I was happy to talk with them about it but I didn't think it would make a difference for me, since housing was only one of the issues I had.

He said to try anyway, and Mohammed walked me downstairs to the accommodations manager. He whispered to me conspiritorilly the whole way downstairs coaching me on what I should say to him, reminding me, as if I didn't know, about all of the problems with the housing. He told me I should go in alone, because if he went in he wouldn't listen and would just tell Mohammed to make another report. But he told me he would see me for sure. I went and knocked on the door. I even went in, but he was not there. No problem, said Mohammed, we will see him later. So we went back upstairs to try to find the Vice President. He was in a meeting and couldn't see me now, but said to come back between 2 and 2:30 to speak with him. So there was nothing to do but wait.

I waited and struck up a conversation with the other people who were waiting. I met a guy from Canada who was hoping to transfer his Iqama to a new company. We discussed the likelyhood that this would happen, and what he would do if he didn't. There was also a guy called Abdula who was hoping to get a final exit before the iqama expired in three days. We talked strategy and wasta the arabic word for respect/power/clout and who had it in the company and how to get their attention to get it done. We talked about why we came (the money) and why we stayed (the money) and what he would do if he left (get a PhD in islamic studies / get a better job with another company). And we wished each other luck. It was the kind of bond you formed in the trenches fighting a common enemy.

By 1:50, Mohammed was in the middle of runnin around solving problems for more people. So I went to the VP office on my own. The door was locked and no one answered my knock. So I went to the accommodations manager who still wasn't in. I went upstairs to check the VP office again and on the way ran into Mohammed, who took me back downstairs to talk to the accommodations manager again. This time he was in. Mohammed said a lot of things to him in arabic, and then asked me to say my piece. I told him I was sure he had heard all the stories, and he told me he had been himself and knew it was unacceptable. He told me they had ended the contract with the building we were in, and were looking in Khobar for a new place to stay. He told me they were forming a search committe. I told him they had been saying the same thing for over a month and that I was sorry, but I was only seeing talk and no action and to forgive me if I didn't believe they would be able to have us out of the building before the end of next month. Mohammed was asking me if I would stay if they got new housing. I told him, if they could move us into a new place by Sept. 4th my final day I might consider it (though I wouldn't). I figured it was a safe bet since we all knew there was no way they would move us out of the housing. He told me if he were in my shoes he would feel the same.

We left his office and headed back upstairs. I asked about my iqama again and we went upstairs to the government affairs office to ask about the iqama. They told me that my passport was with a guy who had taken the passport to the immigration office to try to get the iqama. The word was it still wasn't ready. But that he would go again first thing tomorrow. I told Mohammed I couldn't wait until tomorrow. I told him I had to go back to Dammam tonight because I had nowhere to stay. He told me the company would put me up in housing tonight and inshallah everything would be ready tomorrow morning. I asked again if they were going to pay for my housing. He said yes, they would pay. Ok. I said, tomorrow morning, we will solve everything. The office was closing and there was nothing more I could do that day. I was grateful to have somewhere to stay, but not optimistic about the chances of my iqama magically being ready the next day. I got into the company bus, and headed off to the accommodation, defeated for today, but not ready to give up.