Rain

The rain outside my building.

It's raining today in Riyadh.  I mean really pouring.  There is even thunder and lightning.  I have never enjoyed the sound of thunder and rain as much as I do right now.

Funny thing really, you don't know you are missing something so much until you are suddenly reminded of its absence.  Sure, there have been a few times that it has sprinkled here and there, but this is the first major rainstorm I've experienced in the 11 months I've been in Saudi. Until now, I hadn't realized how much I could miss something as simple as weather.

Riyadh boasts 331 days of sunshine a year, which is impressive, and some would even say enviable, but not to me.  There is a kind of monotony that sets in when the weather doesn't seem to change much day to day, or even month to month.  I never thought much about it before, but changes in the weather often came with changes in my mood.  I miss the way an autumn breeze that carries the smell of burning leaves can make you feel nostalgic, or the sense of anticipation you get when that crisp sharpness in the air that tells you snow is coming, or the way a gloomy day makes you feel that delicious kind of sadness that isn't really sad at all.  I even miss the way bad weather can ruin your plans and make you angry.

I guess what I miss most is feeling like the weather is a personality - not your friend or your enemy exactly - but another character, another variable to shake things up every now and then.   Here the weather is so constant, it feels like an unbreakable law of nature, like gravity or the laws of physics.

The gloomy clouds over Riyadh

So when I left for work this morning and found the sky covered in dark gray clouds, it felt a little like magic, and later, when I heard thunder rumbling for the first time in almost a year, it felt like something epic was happening, something almost apocalyptic.

Playing in the Rain

I'm supposed to be working now, but I ran outside like a crazy person to feel the rain on my face and dance around in puddles like a child.  I could see people gathered at the windows in all the buildings around me, watching the downpour with the kind of interest and curiosity reserved for anomalies like hailstorms in the United States.

I stayed outside until I could feel the rain seeping through my abaya to my clothes underneath, and then I stayed for a while longer, keeping dry under the eaves of the building, just watching car tires slice through the water, and windshieldwipers getting some much needed exercise.

When I finally went back inside, it felt like saying goodbye to an old friend after a chance meeting. You both know you can't stay forever, but you do wish you could somehow stretch the moment just a little longer, just enough for the memory to stick with you until the next chance encounter. Hopefully, the next time, it won't be so long in coming.

I Finally Got My Iqama!

So, maybe it was my conversation with the old company, or maybe it was my conversation with Suleiman, but whatever it was, Sunday morning first thing, I was called into the HR office and given my iqama.  I felt like crying and dancing all at the same time.  I held it like it was a precious gem.  I put it in my wallet, but found myself taking it out to look at it again every 10 minutes or so just to be sure it was real.

One thing that made me suspicious about the whole thing, is that they got the iqama for me without needing my passport.  My passport has been with me the whole time since I left the old company.   So that means either, a). My old company was lying about needing the passport just so they could keep it under their own control, or b). Suleiman had so much wasta he could get the iqama without my passport (but if this was the case, why didn't he do it sooner.)  Anyway, it didn't really matter anymore. The important thing was I had my iqama.

The first thing I did was call May from the publishing company, and tell her that I had finally gotten my iqama, and that perhaps it was possible to transfer now.  I told her I would feel them out and see if they were open to it and let her know.  She told me she would send me an amended offer after they discussed the finances of my proposal for a higher salary.

I felt so free!  I could finally do things like, open a bank account. And buy a sim card for my phone (even though I already had one). And, best of all leave the country (though I would still have to wait to get an exit re-entry visa for this.  Hm... other than those few things, I guess that is pretty much all that I need my iqama for, that and being here legally.  Kind of anti-climactic really.

There is one thing though, the picture on my iqama is the one they take of you at the airport when you first enter the country.  In it, I look confident but nervous at the same time, and I look about ten years younger than I feel now.  It's hard to imagine this was only 8 months ago.  I feel like I have changed so much since then.  It's weird, staring at myself, so innocent, so unsuspecting, would I still have come if I knew then what I know now?  I think I would have. Maybe it's the bad experiences that we learn the most from.   I don't think I would want to go back to being the girl in the photo, too much has changed for me. But I'm also not sure I like who I am becoming here.  True, I'm more patient, and I've seen a lot of things, and I've learned a lot.  But I also feel myself becoming lazy, starting to mimic the work ethic around me.  I'm starting to let these negative interactions with a few people, like Suleiman, who seemed so generous and kind, but who turned out to be greedy and spiteful, and the man who told me the bottom line for the college was getting the tuition money, not what was best for the students educationally, get to me.  I can feel my frustration and disappointment with these situations coloring my day to day interactions unfairly, and that isn't good.

So I think its time for a change.  Maybe all I need now is to finally take that long hoped for trip to Bahrain and clear my head for a weekend.  Or maybe something more.  Maybe it's time to take a chance on the publishing job, even if the pay is less.  Or maybe it's just time to come home.

WhatsApp

A hilarious, but sadly accurate sample of a Whatsapp conversation.

The most common app in the Kingdom is WhatsApp, a phone app that lets you send free text messages to anyone else with the app.  You can send private messages, or you can establish group chats.  Since my students were more or less constantly using this app in class anyway, I decided to harness the power of this social media for language learning.

I sent around a paper and told the girls I would create a Whatsapp group, and if they wanted to join, they could put their numbers down on the paper.  I told them it was optional, but that I would post the homework assignment each day, so if they were absent or forgot to write it down, they could find it, and that there would be an optional discussion question related to the topics we were discussing in class.  I explained that if they did the optional discussion question, they would get bonus points.  There was only one student who didn't add her whatsapp number to the list.

The group was pretty popular.  I nearly regretted starting when the first night there were over 50 messages.  The first 10 or so were legitimate answers to the discussion question, which asked which area they felt the weakest in in English, speaking, listening, reading, or writing (most said speaking). However it quickly devolved into chatting in Arabic.  Everyday was a battle, I'd remind them that they could chat privately in Arabic, but that this was a place to practice English.  They would speak in English for a while, and then, especially if I wasn't online (the app is sort of creepy in that it shows you when people are online, and when they are reading your messages), they would revert back to Arabic.  I thought about threatening to kick those who used Arabic out of the group, but since I posted the homework there, I didn't want to them to loose access to that information, since it would be just another excuse for them not to do it.  And anyway, there were still some discussions in English happening, so that was good, and any English is better than no English.

A student's version of old and new

A studen't picturing of old and young

The nice thing about the app was that a lot of the students who didn't talk in class were very active and responsive on the app.  They were very curious and liked to ask me questions, some of which I answered, and others which I declined to answer because of the sensitive nature of the topic (remember; dating, politics, religion, music, movies, really anything of interest at all is still technically forbidden).  The most successful questions were those where I asked students to find pictures that illustrated new vocab words, or involved pictures in some way.  I asked them to find pictures of opposites, and some of them were very creative in their choices.  Another time I asked them to find mistakes in Grammar on printed English signs around town.  Most just did an internet search and pulled up mis-spelled road signs, but a few actually found some signs in town and took photos of them.  The daily discussion was going so well on a volunteer basis, that I decided I could make it an actual assignment.

Mistakes in English: Sometimes they seem too good to be true.

When I discovered that there was a voice recording feature on Whatsapp, I figured it was a perfect way to get in some speaking and listening practice.  I told the girls that every Thursday, the daily discussion would be an oral question that I would tell them in class, and also post as a recording to Whatsapp.  They would have until Sunday to respond with an audio recording of their own, which would count as a homework grade.  There was a colossal uproar.  It was haram to record their voices.  I knew it was haram to take pictures of them or video tape them (even though they constantly run around taking selfies), but I figured just audio would be ok.  I had intended for all of them to listen and respond to each others answers, but I could see that would never work.  So I offered two alternatives.  I would still post my audio question and tell them in class what the question was, and they could either send me a private whatsapp audio recording with there answer, which I wold listen to, mark in the grade book and then immediately delete, or they could simply come to me before or after class, or during my office hours, and tell me their answer in person.  This seem to calm everyone's fears.

I thought there would be a rush of girls at the end of class to give me their answers in person, but actually, about 60% of the girls did send me private whatsapp audio messages over the weekend - which was about on par with the general homework completion rate.  No girls ever found me to answer the question in person, and I wasn't about to chase them down, so they just didn't get points for the assignment.

In the group whatsapp, there continued to be some participation in the daily discussion, and the daily battle to stem the tide of constant Arabic chatter in the group.  I had asked one of the other teachers to translate the conversations for me, just because I was curious to know if perhaps they were helping each other understand grammar or something helpful like that.  She told me that most of it was typical teenage girls stuff.  They commented on each others hair, and told silly jokes, and in general said nothing at all of importance.  It was so annoying to be constantly getting notifications of posts in the app, only to find a long discussion in Arabic about nail polish colors (or about something to do with colors, I know the color words now...).  

I suggested they start their own separate group without me in it where they could talk together as a class, but no one volunteered to start the group, so the battle for English in the English class Whatsapp group continues.

 

First Day at the Dental & Nursing School

I felt pretty good about my decision after I had made it, until I showed up to work.  Then I started second guessing my decision.  It wasn’t that anything went wrong exactly; it was just the realization of what my daily reality would be. 

My first stop was to finalize the contract.  Of course, being in administration, and being a Saudi man, he wouldn’t be at work until 10am at the earliest.  So I went on upstairs to the women’s section and presented myself to the head of the English department for women.  She is clearly an intelligent and well organized woman, but she also clearly dislikes talking in English.  She can speak English, as we have had conversations in English together, but she tries to get away with not speaking it whenever possible.  Every conversation we have begins in Arabic.  She only switches to English when it becomes clear that I don’t understand.  Then, once she has made herself clear, she reverts back to Arabic until my face shows that I’m clearly lost again.  As you can imagine, this makes for some interesting conversations.

Her: Something in Arabic

Me: uhh….. Yes?

Her: Something cheerful in Arabic

Me:  hmm…. Thank you?

Her: A question in Arabic

Me: ah… five?

Her: Ok.  English.  Will you start today?

I told her the story of how I would start conditionally, and that if they didn’t give me my iqama by Tuesday, I would leave and go home.  She decided that it would be best then to leave me as a cover teacher for now, so that if I did leave, it wouldn’t disrupt the schedules.  There was a mid-term coming up, so she would make the changes after the mid-term if I was still here.  This made good sense to me, and as an added bonus, meant I would sort of be sitting around waiting most of the time unless someone was sick.   She then told me something in Arabic, and I smiled politely and answered, “Tuesday.”  From her quizzical look, I’m guessing she didn’t ask me anything related to the days of the week.

The teachers’ room is a typical room, sort of dingy walls, tiles on the ceiling that are stained and broken.  But it is furnished with these very fancy wood and leather desks that look like they belong in an executive’s office.   Not surprisingly, there are not enough desks for all the teachers, so the part time teachers share one between them.  There is a copy machine that actually works, and even a water dispenser that also works.  It will put out hot and cold water.  I see a lot of tea drinking in my future.

I had only brought one book with me, and I had finished it before the end of the first hour.  I was so bored I picked up a book called “Guidelines for Raising Children” which was a manual for Muslim parents about raising their child to be Islamic.  Here are some of the highlights:

·         Every infant is naturally born as a Muslim, but it is his parents who turn him into a Jew, a Christian, or a Magian.

·         Slaughter two lambs for a boy and one for a girl.

·         The rights of nature are 5; circumcision, shaving off pubic hair, trimming mustaches, clipping fingernails, and plucking armpit hairs.

·         No human infant is born, but is goaded by Satan and screams as a result - except Mary and her son, Jesus.

·         A woman is sought for marriage for four reasons: for her wealth, lineage, beauty and faith.  Win the woman of faith, may poverty be your lot.

·         O young people, whoever of you can afford it, let him get married.  It helps restrain the eyes and preserve the private parts.  But if he cannot afford it, let him fast, for it works as a preventative.

·         Order your children to perform salat (prayer) when they are 7 years old, and beat them for it when they are 10 years old, and separate them in beds.

·         He who protects what is between his jaws and what is in between his thighs, I guarantee Jannah (heaven) for him.

·         He who has three daughters and three sisters, or two daughters and two sisters and teaches them good manners and treats them kindly and gives them in marriage, his reward will be heaven. (only 2 or 3, huh?)

·         When you hear the rooster’s crow, ask Allah to grant from His bounty, for they have seen an angel.  But when you hear a donkey’s braying, then ask Allah’s protection for it has seen Satan.

·         When man dies, no good dead will be added on his record except for three: continuous charity, beneficial knowledge, or a pious son who supplicates for him.

·         The profit cursed men who copy women and women who copy men.

·         The sound of Satan is music and singing.

Don’t get me wrong, there was some good stuff in there too; teach your children manners, education is important, be fair and treat them equally, turn the other cheek, stay away from bad influences and all of that.  I would say that it was a pretty entertaining use of about an hour.  But I still had about 6 hours to go.

I went down to sign the final contract, and this time, thankfully, everything was correct.  I had some more Arabic tea with the man, and we chatted for a while about various things; which city in the US is best, the problem with London (expensive, too many Saudi’s), and the stress of running a college.  He needed to have the contracts signed by the owner of the company, so he couldn’t give them to me now.

I went back upstairs and sat around some more.  I borrowed the books from one of the teachers, just to have something to look over while I was here.  After about a half hour, the head of the woman’s English department came to tell me that Dr. Sala wanted to see me.  I had no idea who Dr. Sala was but I thought it might be the same guy I had signed the contract with.  I knew his name started with an S, though I had never quit gotten it the few times I had heard him or other people say it.  She told me to go downstairs, which is where his office was, so I figured that was the one.  I went to his office, and he told me the contract wasn’t ready yet, and seemed surprised to see me.  I asked if he had sent for me.  He told me no.  I figured maybe she had wanted me to go see him about the contract but since I had already gone down to him earlier, she may have just gotten the message earlier and only just now given it to me so I went back upstairs.

About 10 minutes later she came to get me again and I told her I just went down and he didn’t ask for me.  It turns out, I had gone to Dr. Salam, not Dr. Sala (easy mistake – especially since I didn’t know anyone’s name).  So, she took me to the right person and he took me to Dr. Sala, and all three of us left in Dr. Sala’s brand new car (I didn’t feel as sympathetic about the stresses of running a college after seeing his car) to go meet the owner of the college.  We literally drove one block over to a walled and gated home.  It’s comical how adamant Saudi’s are about not walking anywhere.  Anyway, we arrived at our destination after about 30 seconds in the car and waited for the gate to open.  Inside there was a green area, and workers constructing an outdoor tent area, and to the right were two smaller buildings.  I was told to wait in the car a moment.  I felt a little like I was being prepared to meet the Godfather or something.  The two men went in first, and then a little later they called me over.  The owner extended his hand to greet me and I was glad because I wouldn’t have known if it was okay to shake his hand or not until then.  He invited us inside, and I followed the men’s lead and took off my shoes.  Inside was a 52 inch TV screen and really nice carpets and several couches.  In one corner, a man was giving an enthusiastic presentation in English about an architectural design to an older gentleman who looked like he was struggling to keep up with the English.  He was looking intently at the pictures and occasionally would nod or look over at the other man, who might have been the translator.  There was Arabic coffee and dates everywhere, but no one offered me any. 

The owner joined us a few minutes later and gave me the welcome speech, followed by the plea to forward the resumes of any friends I had that might want to work here.   He also told me that there was a separate language institute next door to the college and he told me I would be welcome to earn extra money by working there in the afternoons.  I thanked him, and told him I would consider it, depending on how much extra money they were offering.  He talked with the other two for a while in Arabic, then asked a driver to take me back to the college and the other two stayed I suppose for a discussion.

When I got back to the college I was surprised to find that the whole meeting hadn’t eaten up more than 30 minutes.  I felt like 3:00 would never come.  I spent another hour trying to entertain myself by borrowing some of the text books to flip through.  Since I didn’t know what level I would be teaching, it seemed a little pointless to get too involved in covering any one book.  So I skimmed them all, which was about as exciting as watching paint dry.  On several occasions I may have fell asleep a little bit.  Toward the end of the day, only three teachers were left.  They all came over to sit near me, and I knew my napping was over for the day.  Even though they were all English teachers, they spoke only in Arabic.  I tried to jump in a few times, and for about a minute they would switch to English for me, but they always fell back into Arabic before too long.  Yup, if I wanted to get better at Arabic, at least I was in the right place for it.

They offered me dates and some sweets that were white chocolate hearts with sesame seeds in honey on top.  It was pretty good, but I think I preferred the date encrusted with sesame.  They were doing such a good job distracting me with candy that I forgot I was supposed to go back to Dr. Sala to get the signed contract, and to ask if they would give me transportation back to the hotel, since, technically they were supposed to provide transportation.  By the time I realized what time it was it was already 2:15.  I went downstairs, but Dr. Sala had already left for the day, being a Saudi man in administration and all.  Dang.  That meant I would be paying for two more taxi rides, one home, and another back the next morning.  At least by now, I knew how to get there.  This was good since I had left the business card of the hotel at home.

Overall, not a bad first day. If signing with this company ends up being a mistake, it probably won’t be the worst mistake I have ever made.