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.

Resigning Part 2: Day 1

Finally Sept. 4^th rolled around, my official last day of work with the old company.  Before I left last time, Mohammed had assured me that they could take care of everything in Riyadh without me there, and that I could stay in Dammam, with the exception of getting my final exit for which they needed my passport.  The head of HR had also told me that they legally had 2 weeks from my final working day to issue the final exit.  Two weeks would be the 18^th, but the week of the 18^th would be the start of classes.  I decided If I was going to have to go to Riyadh, it would be better to do it this week since it was only student orientation I would be missing and not any actual teaching.   I ran it by the new company, and they agreed that it would be best to try to get it done this week, and that they would not doc my pay if I had to be in Riyadh.  I thought that was pretty generous of them.

Knowing how crazy the office is on Sundays, I decided I would stay and work Sunday to see what I could find out by phone first, then go up on Monday if I needed to.  If the labor office hadn’t agreed to give the final exit yet, there wouldn't be much point in my going to wait around for them to change their minds.  On Sunday the 7^th, the first working day after my last official day, I called to see if there had been any progress with getting me an iqama and or a final exit.  Mohammed told me that everything was ready and I just needed to mail them my passport, and they would mail it back when it was finished.  I asked him if they had gotten the iqama or the final exit and he said that they would when they got the passport back.  I asked again if they were sure they could get it and I wouldn't have to wait around for it.  He said yes.  I told him I would come to Riyadh the next day.  He told me I didn't have to I could just mail my passport.  I told him I didn't trust them to mail it back at all, let alone in a timely manner, and that I would rather come in person.  He said, as you wish.  So I booked the train again for the wee hours of the next morning, packed for more than one day this time, and braced myself for what would likely be another frustrating week of waiting around in the company office.

When I arrived in Riyadh, I tried to get a taxi to the office.  The cheapest fare anyone was willing to give me was 100 riyals, which was crazy seeing as my train ticket had only been 60.  So I took a chance and called The company to see if they would send me a driver, which they did.  I spent the time waiting for him to show up using the electronic booking station to book seats on every train leaving Riyadh for Dammam for the next 4 days.  I didn’t want to end up being stuck in Riyadh for an extra night like last time.  I was hoping that all these precautions, packing for a week, booking tickets, would work like remembering to bring your umbrella.  If you are prepared for rain, it doesn’t.  If I’m prepared to stay, I may not have to.

The driver that came to pick me up happened to be the same one I had tried to learn Arabic with back when I first arrived in April.  He remembered me, but thankfully not my name, which I had led him to believe, was ‘mirror’ because of a small language miscommunication.  This time I discovered that he was from Yemen and that he liked driving but didn't like traffic, which pretty much exhausted the language I had learned so far.  Then I asked him if we would be passing an Al Raji bank ATM on our way to the office.  I wanted to find out if I had actually been paid for the month of August.   He said he would look for one, and I watched for one too, but since I had been up since 3am and only slept for two hours on the train, I didn’t stay awake for long.  When I woke up, we were pulling into a gas station with an Al Raji ATM.  I thanked the driver and while he waited in line for gas, I jumped out to try to use the ATM.  Unfortunately, this particular ATM wasn’t working.  The windows loading screen was frozen on the teleprompter.  Perfect.  I thought.  At least we tried.  I got back in and told the driver it was broken, which I felt pretty proud about because I had actually learned the word for broken in Arabic.  Then I told him no problem, another phrase in Arabic I had learned and found myself using a lot lately.  We finished filling up and then headed back out again. 

It had already been about a half an hour since leaving the train station, so I figured we must be nearly to the office by now.    I thought I recognized the intersection with the McDonald’s and Red Lobster near the hotel I was staying in last time and I wondered if he had misunderstood that I needed to go to the office and was taking me to the hotel instead.  Actually where he was taking me was another Al Raji Bank, bless him.  We pulled up behind another car and someone else jumped out, obviously also to use the ATM, I fell in line behind him, but he made a frustrated sound and walked away.  This ATM was also out of service.  What are the odds?  I was starting to wonder if a) the bank’s entire systems were down, or more likely, b) the entire universe was conspiring against me ever getting paid.  I got back in and told the driver the machine was broken again, and shrugged, trying to convey that it just wasn’t to be.  I thanked him for trying, but he got this look in his eye and drove off again.  We turned down several side-streets and winded our way past mosques and schools and compounds for another ten minutes or so.  I guessed we were taking a back way to the office since he had gone out of the way to find the ATM.  But instead we pulled up in front of another ATM.  I laughed at his determination, and thanked him again, saying inshallah this time it will work and jumped out.  Sure enough, third time is a charm.  I had been paid and I was able to withdraw the maximum daily amount.  I got back in significantly happier and a little richer and thanked him again. 

By the time we finally reached the office it was noon.  I was concerned that I had arrived too late in the day to actually get anything done, but as it turned out, one of the guys I needed to see had only just arrived.  I asked why he was late, and the secretary looked at his phone, and shrugged and said, oh, his isn’t really so late.   Saudi time prevails.  Mohammed told me to see this man in the finance office because before they could issue the final exit paperwork, I needed a document from finance saying we were all settled up, that I didn’t owe the company anything and they didn’t owe me anything.  So I went to finance.  Turns out, he was waiting on the attendance records from Dammam, so they could know what they needed to pay me.  So I went to the man who collects all the fingerprint records.   He printed off my attendance for August to Sept. 4^th, and another final clearance paper.  I thought it was odd because the attendance sheet was absolutely blank.   But he signed it and said it would be fine, so I took it to HR to have it signed, but he told me I needed finance to sign off on it before he could, and when I went to finance they said they couldn’t sign off on it until someone in HR signed off on it first.  The whole system seemed purposefully built on a system of catch 22s.  They also needed, as I originally suspected, the print outs from the fingerprint machine for the last month that said whether I was there, or absent or on vacation.  So I went back to get the attendance record, and as it turned out the fingerprint machine in Dammam only worked about 50% of the time, because most of the attendance records were missing.  So he asked me when my final day in Dammam was and I told him the 21^st was the last time I was there and that I had come to Riyadh on the 24^th to begin sorting out all the iqama business.  He said, okay, and then said, how about this… I will say your last day in Dammmam was the 29^th and that the fingerprint machine was malfunctioning so there was no record of it, and that you have been in Riyadh since then.  Fine, I said.  I had been expecting them to use my vacation days for the last week since I wasn’t at the University or in Riyadh, but he didn’t seem to care, and I wasn’t going to argue with them that they should pay me less after all of the stress they had been putting me through.

So I had him sign it and I took the form back to finance, who had me go back down and get a second signature, and then over to HR for another signature, and then back to finance.  I felt a little like a ping pong ball all afternoon going from office to office and back again.  Finally, everything was done with finance, and I was ready for the last piece.  I went to the government relations office and presented my final release from the company, the holy grail of paperwork, the last step before the final exit.  There were a group of men all waiting in the hallway for that same piece of paper, and they had been waiting for weeks to get it.  They looked on with thinly veiled envy.  I wasn't sure where in the process they were held up, or why mine had been streamlined, but I was very grateful.  I suspected that my sticky notes and car fresheners had paid off. 

The government relations guy asked me for my iqama, the same guy who I had asked the week before for all the paperwork regarding my delayed iqama.  I was just getting ready to start over with the whole explanation again, since he obviously didn't recognize me when the head of government relations invited me inside the sacred layer.  He sat down with me and said it was too late to go to the labor office today (it was already 3pm) but that he would go himself personally the next day.  He explained what a headache it had been for him dealing with the labor office because of the six visas that had the wrong name.  He said he changed the name and they still weren't happy.  He said they had done everything the labor office had asked them to do, but they still weren't happy.  He showed me a stack of papers, about a sixth of a ream of paper if I had to guess, of just my documents that they had submitted.  Ah hah!  I thought, so they do keep copies.  I eyed them and tried to pick up the packet but he quickly took it back.  I asked him If I could have a copy of all of this, but he said no, he would need it when he went with my passport to the labor office tomorrow.  I said, just a copy, and he said no, and because I could see that he really was frustrated, and really did seem to be trying to get the final exit, I decided not to push the issue.  He told me tomorrow they would get it any way they could, on top of the table, beneath the table, any way they had to.  I had to smile at his mixed up use of prepositions for the idiom and his genuine determination.  I wasn't at all convinced that the final exit would be issued tomorrow, but I was convinced that he was doing all he could to make it happen, and that now it really was in the hands of the ministry of labor.  So, reluctantly, I handed my passport back over so that he could take it first thing in the morning with the promise that I would have it back tomorrow, with or without the final exit.

I went back down to Mohammed who told me that if they didn't have it tomorrow, they would make a request to reinstate me so that they would pay me for my time while I was waiting for the final exit.  While I wouldn't mind an extra week of pay, the thought of signing any new contract with them after I have finally gotten that holy grail paper saying the company and I are square and finished made me feel slightly nauseous.  No way I wanted to go through this all again.  I told him we would see, and that inshallah the final exit would arrive tomorrow and it wouldn't be an issue.  Then I asked him to put me up for the night, and he told me to wait and said he would arrange it all.

Helpful teacher from before was still around.  I wish I could say that either one of us was surprised to still see the other still here, but we had both been around long enough to know better.  He offered to tell the housing people for me because if I waited for Mohammed to not be busy it would be ages.  So he went and spoke to them and sure enough after about 10 minutes the guy came to tell me I would be staying in Rayatona  and to wait downstairs in reception for the bus to take me.  I could feel a tickle in my throat and suspected I was getting a cold.  I would be very happy to get to a room and lay down, and hope it was going to be a mild cold, and not one of those really bad ones.  I honestly don't think I could handle being sick and the company at the same time.

Resigning: Day 4

This morning Wajda and I were joined on the morning bus by Jennifer from Texas. We tried inform her of what she was in for without scaring her so that she could at least go into her experience with the company with eyes wide open. When we got there, Mohammed wasn't in yet.  Faisal said he came in late a lot, and probably wouldn't be around before noon. Jennifer got her contract and read it over.  I was holding my breath.  I wanted to tell her not to do it.  I wanted to say, get out now while you have the chance!  Instead I just cringed and said a silent prayer that everything would work out well for her as I watched her sign her life away.

Driving around the PNU campus

After she signed, there was nothing she could do without Mohammed.  Wajda needed to return a laptop she had been given by Princess Nora University before she left on Sunday to start work in Al Jouf.  She asked if Jennifer would like to go with her since more than likely she would be working there.  Jennifer said sure, and I asked if I could tag along also.  I knew there would be no news before 3pm, and seeing where I might have been working would be a lot better than sitting around the office all day.  Wajda said no problem and the three of us went downstairs and one of the drivers agreed to take us to PNU.  It took about 30 minutes to get to the campus and then another 10 or 15 to drive around the perimeter and find the right gate.  PNU is so large that it has 10 entrance gates and a monorail that goes around the whole campus to help students get from one area to the other.  We were dropped off at the main gate for employees which has a huge fountain in front. Inside the walls all the streets are lined with palm trees. The sudden switch from the dull tan of the surrounding area makes the green inside PNU seem like paradise.

No Men Allowed

We got out and asked the driver to wait just 15 minutes while she returned the laptop. A huge sign in front of the door made sure everyone knew this was a no man zone. Inside the building was crowded with girls waiting to take placement tests, sitting in long rows Indian style like we used to in gym class. This was orientation week and classes would begin the following week, so there was a lot going on. Wajda led us through the security and upstairs, then out across a patio to another building and then upstairs again through a long hallway of classrooms and then finally to the faculty offices. Everything was clean and new and had a nice sleek design. the colors were orange and silver and cream and it was a strange mix of modern and old style Arabic geometric designs. the classrooms were smaller than I would have thought, and we passed at least two prayer rooms on our way to the offices.

 Jennifer and I sat on some orange couches to wait while Wajda returned the laptop. She wasn't gone long before she came back down the hallway she had disappeared to and passed us to go down the opposite way. a few minutes after that, she passed us again, going back the other way. Finally she came back a third time. It reminded me of watching everyone in the company offices going upstairs and downstairs and back again, bouncing from one office to the next. I guess I hadn't escaped the hectic office after all. The woman she needed to return it to was in a meeting and no one else wanted to take responsibility for the laptop. So she would have to wait for her to come out of a meeting. Wajda called the office to let the driver know he didn't have to wait.

Monorail around PNU's Campus

Wajda & Jennifer take pictures
of the clock tower.

I suggested that we take a ride on the monorail while we waited. So we went upstairs to the platform and got on the train. It only had two cars, but it was really neat. The track was raised above the whole campus at least 2 maybe 3 stories high and made a giant oval. We passed the library and the clock tower and even a whole mini-suburb where the Arabic teachers lived. This place had everything.

Mini -city inside PNU campus, complete with mosque, grocery store and teacher & student housing.

After we finished our loop tour, there was still no word from the woman Wajda needed to return the laptop to, so we went to the food court, which was actually three stories worth of food and even had a pharmacy and a small supermarket. It was incredible. But the best part was something called the tranquil rooms. These were a series of circular rooms lined with soft benches and pillows with a TV on one wall and little curtains over each doorway. They looked inviting and calming, and I peaked in one and saw three girls laying down with legs and arms dangling over the edge of the benches. I couldn't think of a better name for these rooms than tranquil rooms, and I wished we had one in Dammam. But then again, it would always be full and then people would be fighting over them, which wouldn't be tranquil at all so maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all.

We went back to the office again and this time someone told Wajda where the meeting was, so she went off to find the woman and we sat back down on the orange couches to wait. By thins time I was getting anxious to get back to the office and find out what was happening with my passport. About a half an hour later Wajda returned laptop free, and we downstairs to see if there was a driver or call and wait for one to come if there wasn't. Surprisingly, our driver was still there waiting for us. Apparently, he never got the message from the main office. We felt bad for making him wait, but I suspect he was perfectly content to do so. He had been taking a nap with the engine on to run the AC. We had been gone almost 4 hours. It doesn't seem to matter much here how much gas you use because the petrol costs almost nothing.

By the time we got back to the office Mohammad had turned up and had a line of people waiting. Eventually it was my turn. By now it was almost 3:30 and the office closed at 4pm. I asked him for the news and he told me it still wasn't ready. I asked him If I could have my passport then and we went upstairs together to the government relations office, but they told him my passport was still out with the company representative. I told Mohammad I wanted it back, and he told me that it was too late, the guy couldn't get back to the office before 4pm. He said it was better this way anyway because then the guy could go with it first thing in the morning and try to get it done one more time. I was so frustrated. "You promised me I could have it back today, Mohammad." He shrugged and said, "Tomorrow, inshallah." I was worried that if he said inshallah to me one more time I might either burst into tears or hit him in the face. I asked him if we could at least take care of all the other paperwork for leaving tomorrow, even if we didn't get the exit visa, that way I wouldn't have to come back to Riyadh next week and could just be finished. He said lets see, and led me across the hall to the finance department.

The guy in charge of the Dammam finances was praying at the moment so we couldn't see him. While we waited for him to come back, I made Mohammad promise again that he would get my passport back for me tomorrow, with or without an exit visa or an iqama. He promised me again, but by now, his word wasn't worth much to me. It was worth even less when the finance guy returned from prayer and Mohammad asked him about my situation. For my benefit he asked him in English if everything could be settled by Sunday, then he switched to Arabic. I don't know much Arabic but I have managed to learn the days of the week, and I will tell you the word I kept hearing Mohammad say to the finance guy was not Sunday, but Tuesday. The finance man gave a couple of short nods and a noncommittal shrugs, and then Mohammad turned to me and said, "Sunday, it should be easy. You will be paid anyway because it is the end of the month, so it will be simple." I was out of energy to fight and out of time. It was already 4pm and I didn't want to miss the bus back to the hotel.

At the hotel, I met Sara, who was another woman whose iqama hadn't been processed, and another teacher whose name I don't remember. We commiserated for a while together in the lobby, and eventually decided to move our rants upstairs to one of their apartments for tea. We had earl gray and smoked shisha and traded war stories. Sara had previously lived in both Afghanistan and Iraq, and she said that even though they were developing countries, and Saudi was first world, our company was far more disorganized and less efficient than anything she had experienced over there. The latest scandal was that the company had decided not to pay people for their Eid vacations even though before the vacation, they sent emails saying they would be paid. Also, they were planning on moving them out of this very nice hotel soon because apparently the company was several months behind on the rent for the building. I really don't know how this company is still in business. Eventually, we said goodnight, and they supplied me with soap and tea and food to take with me since I had come with nothing. I told them I would really only be here one more night, but they insisted, saying that I would probably be stuck here forever. They said it with a smile, as if they were joking, but we all knew there was more truth to it than any of us were comfortable with. They invited me to come up anytime if I needed anything, and told me they would be happy to take me out if I was still there this weekend. I thanked them, but insisted with more confidence and hope than I felt, that I would be headed back to Dammam tomorrow night.

Resigning: Day 3

 The next morning I woke up early to sit in the lobby and use the Internet because the signal was really weak in my room. I was surprised to see a young woman there with no abaya on. It's amazing how quickly something that used to be perfectly normal becomes jarring when you haven't seen it in a while. She saw me, and came to ask me some questions. Her name was Jennifer, from Texas and she had just arrived from the airport where no one from the company had come to meet her, so she had waited there 5 hours. Finally, she found the driver just by chance, and he brought her to the hotel where she had been waiting to be checked in for nearly 2 hours. Apparently the front desk couldn't check her in without confirmation from the company and no one was at the office yet to confirm. She was jet lagged and confused and worried because no one from the company had told her what to do when she arrived, or where to go. I told her not to worry, and that she could come on the bus to the office with me at 9am if she wanted, or she could take a day to sleep and catch up on jet lag and go in the next day and it wouldn't make any difference. She asked me some questions about the company, and since she already seemed nervous and frightened, I didn't want to scare her too much, but I told her whatever you do, don't let them have your passport. Finally, they gave her a room, and she went off to sleep and recover from the 36 hours of traveling she had just done to get here.

Wajda and I were on the bus to the office together again that morning and we chatted about weather and camels and traffic problems and hijab wrapping and all the typical Saudi conversations you find yourself having. I'd only known her a few days, but I really felt good around her. She was calm and friendly and warm hearted and understanding and I found myself wishing we had ended up together in the same city instead of just meeting by chance like this in the office. I had been told by a few people that I should bring the guys in the office small gifts. Not bribes exactly just small things to show I appreciated them. Since I knew Osama had kids, I'd gone out the night before and bought some balloons to make balloon animals for them. I also bought a whole stack of sticky notes for Faisal (I wanted to get him different colors, but all they had was yellow). I couldn't think of anything really special for Mohammad, mostly he talked about his dodge charger, so i got him a car freshener. It was pretty lame, but it was something.

Unfortunately that morning, Mohammad was late, Osama was in a meeting (as usual) and Faisal was running around trying to cover both of their jobs. So I  went with Wajda to her office instead and we continued our chat while I drew a small stick figure in the corner of each page of the post-it pad so that when you flipped through it it looked like he was doing jumping jacks. I thought Faisal would get a kick out of that. Around 11, I went back in and Mohammad was there so I asked him for an update about my passport, and he told me it was with the immigration office, and that if all went well, I would have it by 3pm. I asked him to check on my vacation days for me, and if I had enough if we could move the final date up to end immediately, and that way I wouldn't have to wait till Sept. 4th (I knew the other job really wanted me to start as soon as possible). He told me that I would be foolish to do that because no matter what my final date was, they weren't going to issue me a final exit visa until the iqama had been processed. "Right now you are getting paid, but once your final day comes, you won't be paid anymore. So, since you have to wait anyway, wait and get paid." This seemed more or less logical to me, so I didn't push the issue. I did wonder what would happen though if my last day came and went, and I still had no iqama. Would they issue a final exit without it? Wouldn't it make more sense never to issue the iqama? I wanted to ask him these things, but he had already moved on to the next person in line.

I settled into my usual chair to wait, and pulled out my kindle to pass the time. I will tell you something though, it is impossible to concentrate when all around you people are desperate and anxious and frustrated. Every conversation you overhear is loaded with barely hidden tension. The teachers are all keenly aware that they are being screwed somehow or another, and the staff is doing their best to mediate a system that is inherently problematic. It's almost an us, them, them dynamic where the English speaking staff act as go betweens for the Saudi staff upstairs that handle finance and government relations. They say to us, we are trying for you, but it is out of our hands, the people upstairs will take care of it. Sometimes that is true, and sometimes it isn't. I've seen to many stacks of paperwork shoved to the bottom of piles after heated arguments to think otherwise.

Today I met a man who was here with his wife and two kids. He had a flight in two days, and had his kids Iqama's but he and his wife's were missing. He wasn't sure if the company had them or not, and neither was the company. There were discussions about the possibility of bribing an official to make the three week process of replacing a lost iqama shrink to two days, but even the Saudi's seemed doubtful. He was remarkably calm about it all, but I suppose he had been through it all before. He said he had been trying to leave for three months. And that he had worked here for over 3 years, so he knew his way around. He asked about my situation and I told him what they had been telling me, that my passport wasn't even here, it was with the government offices. He laughed and said it was so untrue, which I had suspected. He said they never hold passports at the immigration / processing office. The company rep went with a stack of passports and applications, the guy processes them, or rejects them and returns them all to the company rep. The whole thinks takes like 15 minutes and the passports are never out of the company reps sight. He told me they have to at least show you your passport if you ask to see it.

"Come with me," he said, and took me upstairs to visit the government relations office. There was a little glass window with a hole in the bottom like a bank teller window or something. He told me to ask for my passport. I told him my name, and he went back into a little room and came back a few minutes later with my passport. He held it up for me behind the glass, and I said, no, I want to take it with me. He asked for my iqama (you are supposed to do an even trade). I told him I didn't have one yet. He told me I couldn't take my passport then. I told him I needed it to take the train home, which wasn't a complete lie. A copy might be enough, but there was no guarantee. He shook his head and made a tisking sound. The teacher who had brought me up here said something in Arabic, and the guy turned and came out of the office with my passport and began walking downstairs with it. He never said anything to me at all about where he was going or why, but I followed him and all three of us went back downstairs to Mohammad. The two of them discussed something in Arabic, and the teacher kept looking at me and giving me looks that more or less said, they aren't saying anything. Finally, Mohammad said, "They can't give a final exit without an iqama."
 And I asked, "They can't, or they don't want to?"
More discussion in Arabic, and then Mohammad said, "Can't."  I asked if it was because they had let my visa expire and would have to pay 10,000 riyals if I left without the iqama and Mohammad said, "Don't worry about the cost, the company will pay for everything." The helpful teacher started to tell me something, which I didn't even hear properly because Mohammed cut him off and started yelling at him. "This is not your issue, we are here trying to help her and you keep butting in and telling her things that aren't true, we never said anything about 10,000 riyals and now you have her worrying about this... Go away."
The helpful teacher muttered, "I was just trying to translate for her," and walked away, giving me a meaningful look that I took to mean 'I will talk to you later'.

In reality, he hadn't told me about the 10,000 riyals, it was something that I had read online. I asked Mohammed again and said, "It isn't about the money, I'm worried about the time. It has been 5 months already and I will not sit around and wait another 5 months while you guys sort out my iqama just to leave." There was more discussion, and all the while I was eyeing my passport which the government relations guy had given to Mohammed, who was waving it around and pointing while he talked. Finally, Mohammed said, "No, don't worry, he is going himself tomorrow and everything is ready now so he will have your iqama by 3pm." I asked if I could see my passport. I wanted to check and see if they had renewed my visa and they let me touch it and look through it, and I asked them why the visa wasn't renewed and there was more discussion in Arabic, and in the meantime, the helpful teacher was gesturing to me from the hallway to pocket my passport while they weren't paying attention. So I slipped it into my bag and waited for them to finish. Mohammed said, "There is no need to renew because the application for the iqama was started before it expired so it's ok." While Mohammed was explaining this to me, someone grabbed the government relations guy and took him off to another room. I thanked Mohammed and snuck off to Wajda's room to wait for the bus back hoping no one would notice I still had the passport.

 In Wajda's office I made the balloon animals for Osama and impressed her and another teacher. I even taught her how to make a giraffe. It was a big hit. I carried them into Osama's office and told him they were for his kids. He laughed and said they would love them. Then I dropped the post-it pad on Faisal's desk and he looked up and said, "You! It's been you delivering post its, to me!" He gave me a huge smile, and I told him goodbye and then I hung the air freshener from the corner of Mohammed's computer and he gave me a quick smile and thumbs up before resuming the heated discussion he was having with a teacher who hadn't been paid in two months. Then I made my way downstairs to get on the bus. I was starting to feel lighter and happier, I was almost out of here with my passport, and it didn't seem like anyone was going to try to stop me. I was halfway down the stairs when Mohammed ran after me. "Do you have your passport?", he said.
"Yes." I said.
"Give it back," he said.
"No." I said.
"Jennifer," he said, "Please, you can do nothing with your passport without the exit visa. He is going tomorrow to get it first thing, so he will take it with him tonight. Walla we need it, just give me one more day to get it for you and after tomorrow if there is no iqama, I will make them do everything for you. One more day. Please, Jennifer."
I asked, "Do you promise me tomorrow I will be able to have my passport, even if the iqama isn't ready?" I said, giving him that 'Don't you dare screw around with me' look I sometimes give students who I know are trying to pull one over on me.
"I promise." he said.
So I reluctantly, in one of those slow motion moments you end up replaying with regret over and over in your mind, I took my passport out of my bag and gave it to him. I made my way to the bus, and got on it. One more night, I told myself, one more night.

On the bus back with me today was the woman I had met yesterday with the baby and her husband. I could see that he was livid. She and I talked a little in the front seat about the progress (or lack thereof) with our situations while I oohed and awed over the baby. Her husband said, "I hope you don't mind if I but in, but I want you to know, what they are doing here is not Islam. I can't bear to think that you will leave here thinking that all muslims behave this way. We believe that we must be honest and just and fair in our business dealings or we will be rewarded with hellfire in the next world. That company is full of men who are not acting in accordance with the principles of islam and yet they claim to be Muslim. It is not only wrong because they are lying and breaking contracts, it is wrong because they are ruining the good name of muslims who are living the words of Prophet Mohammed (peace be upon him). Do you know that lying is one of the worst things you can do in our religion?"

 I told him, not to worry, I understood that this was a business, and that the business practices were not a reflection of their religion, and I wasn't going to take the companies behavior as an example of the character of all Saudi's or all Muslims. "But that is just the point," he said, "we believe our religion is part of everything we do. If we do not honor him in all things, we do not honor him at all. There is no separating one part of our lives from our faith. I wish I had a way to tell everyone that what you are seeing in there, what you are dealing with, that is not Islam, those men who are lying to you are not true Muslims, and they will face the consequences in the next world." He would have gone on, but we had arrived at my hotel and I got out. They were staying at another one of the company housing apartments, so I wished them luck and I said goodbye to the wife and headed inside.

 I hadn't thought about the shady way the company operates before in terms of being a Saudi run company, and therefore, it being an Islamic company, and therefore a company whose reputation was a reflection on all Muslims. I wondered what that meant for the individual employees as religious people. Like everywhere else, I'm sure there are good people and there are bad people. But I wondered how the good people felt about what they were doing. Did they know they were breaking laws and screwing people out of money they earned? Or was the system so broken and convoluted that no one was really sure what was happening? Could they be that unaware of what was going on? If I had been in the office only three days, and seen all the politics, lying, scheming, forged signatures, whispered conversations to change this or that, etc... Then, could they really not see it? If they did see it, how did they reconcile that with their beliefs? Or was the job so important that they felt they had no choice but to turn a blind eye, and then get sucked into the system themselves?

I thought about us teachers, and how we had learned that we needed to "work" the system of not reporting absences and making up grades to avoid being fired, and how all the girls surely knew that when they didn't earn a grade, they could buy it with daddy's influence. I knew I had already thought about what I would do when teaching started, about how I knew the grades that would eventually be reported would not be a true reflection of student work and progress since they would be largely controlled by administrative decisions. I thought about how I had justified it for myself by choosing to focus on making sure that learning happened, rather than focusing on how it was documented. I realized we are all corrupted by our circumstances, by the systems we live in, and the only question seems to be how far you are willing to let yourself fall into it. Where is my line in the sand?  Where is yours?

The Consulate

With rumors flying, and no one being able to tell me anything for sure, I wrote to the U.S. consulate about my Iqama, and job switching quandary, who advised me to come in for an appointment.  So on Wednesday, I left work early and took a taxi to the consulate.  I shared the cab with a woman who was going to pick up her passport which would now have additional pages.  Someday, I want to travel enough to need additional pages in my passport.  For now, I would settle for just having a passport.  Anyway, we picked her up and I was nervously biting my nails because my appointment was at 2:30, and it was already quarter past by the time we reached her.  But Mr. Rashid, our pakistani taxi driver remained his usual calm self. He assured us we would arrive on time, and turned up the BBC world service on the radio.

I had read on the website that cell phones were not allowed,  in fact, no bags of any kind are allowed.  But since I was coming straight from work, I had no choice but to bring my bag, and I wasn't sure what I should do.  I didn't know Mr. Rashid that well, or if I would even be taking the same taxi home.  The other lady was only going to be in there for five minutes, so he was happy to wait for her and take her back to the apartments, so she was going to leave her purse and phone in the taxi.  But I knew my appointment would be over an hour, and Mr. Rashid wasn't sure he would be free then, so I would need my phone to call him, or if he wasn't available, call another taxi.  Besides, I didn't really know him well, so I was hesitant to leave my work bag and phone with him in the taxi.  I figured there would be a check point somewhere along the way where you can leave your bag.

So we reached the parking lot area for visitors to the consulate.  Far away in the distance, I could vaguely make out the outline of a building, but it seemed pretty far away.   Between us and the building was a long walkway lined in concrete traffic barriers.  The first man we came to told me I couldn't bring my bag.  I asked him if I could leave it here and he told me no, I should take it back to my car.  I told him I came by taxi and I couldn't leave it.  He looked extremely unhappy and somewhat concerned, and after some more explaining and pleading on my part, he agreed to let me leave my bag in the tiny cabinet below the checkpoint.  Now armed with only a stack of papers and a photocopy of my passport, (and thankfully, my US driver's license) I made my way to the next checkpoint, which was through a maze of bars, not unlike being in line for a roller coaster at an amusement park, only we were the only ones in line.  There was a guard waiting at the head of the line.  And he escorted us one at a time to the door of the next checkpoint.  When he came for me he said something I didn't understand, but assumed he wanted my ID.  So I dutifully handed him my driver's license.  He shook his head but still held out his hand, so I handed him the appointment reservation I had printed online.  He didn't want that either.  Finally he said "Hands!" as he grabbed one of my wrists and turned it over.  I quickly juggled my paperwork so it was all under one arm so he could swipe my hands with something, that I can only assume was meant to detect bomb residue or something.

Then he walked me in and checked my paperwork to be sure there were no explosives or knives taped to the back of page nine of my contract or something, and sent me through the metal detector.  After the metal detector was another long walk between concrete traffic blocks and then an iron gate that clicked open as I approached.  Inside the gate it was green and nicely landscaped with a row of golf carts parked neatly to one side.    There was a lovely large building with official looking seals all over it, and I headed that way at first, until a man in a business suit and professional looking ID badge came out of the doors and pointed to a smaller building off to the side with a big sign saying "Visa and Passport Area" so I headed on over.  Inside, it felt like a DMV.  In the back was a small, (I'm talking cart sized) Jeoffry's coffee shop and some restrooms, and in the front was a large digital display announcing "now serving # 66".  I looked around for somewhere to take a number.  There was a woman in the back behind a counter, so I approached her, but she just waved me forward and said, just take a seat.  I sat down near the front, so that I would have a good view of both the digital display, so I could watch for the number I didn't have, and the counter where the woman was seeing people.

She seemed to indicate the next person by simply looking out from the glass and giving head nods to whomever she wanted to talk to next.  It was a surprisingly good system.  After all, there were only a half dozen or so people in the lobby, and all of them appeared to me to be Saudi.  I sat watching a women across the isle from me comfort a small baby while her husband tried to simultaneously fill out paperwork and keep a small boy from running around the room.  I smiled at the little boy, and the mother looked over at me.  She might have smiled, but I couldn't tell, she was wearing the niqab and all I could see were her eyes.  After a few minutes of furtive glances, she walked over and sat down next to me.  She asked me about where I was from and about my job.  When she found out I was a teacher, she got very excited.  She told me she was returning to the US in the fall to start graduate school in Pennsylvania.  Her husband was also studying there and both of her children had been born there.  They were at the consulate getting a passport for the four month old.  Her English was good, but she was worried about the graduate school level work and wanted to know what she could do to practice.  I told her to read everyday, and to practice listening to lectures.  I suggested a few websites, and other things she could do, but we didn't get very far in our conversation before I was being called into glass booth #4.

There was a woman and a man on the other side of the glass from me listening to my story of being illegal, and the company not issuing my iqama and my separate issue of wanting to quit and start for a new company.  Nothing I said surprised them, they had seen it all before.  When they asked the name of my company and I told them, the guy smiled and said the name of my boss in Riyadh.  Clearly the company was so notoriously bad, the consulate staff already knew him by name.  I cringed.  I cringed even harder when they gave me their advice.  Basically, he said, there is only a 500SAR fee ( $133.31) if a company is caught "holding" visas for which they haven't yet applied for iqamas.  Since the iqama fee is 2000SAR ($533.25), and the company only gets a certain number per nationality per year, it is in the company's best interest to not submit the paperwork for the iqama.  He told me the company could more or less keep me here without an iqama indefinitely.  He didn't advise that I quit before the iqama was issued, but didn't elaborate why.  He said my best bet was to wait it out until I received my iqama, then ask to be transferred to the new company.  Chances are, they would not agree to transfer me, at which time I could simply resign with the obligatory 30 days notice, and wait for the company to issue my final exit paperwork (which they could take as long as they wanted to organize...) and then leave the country to come in on a new visa with the new company.  It seemed better to me to resign ASAP and skip the part where I wait forever, since chances are they wouldn't agree to a transfer anyway.  He told me he didn't think that was a good idea, but didn't say why.

They did offer to call the company and politely inquire about the status of my Iqama, but that was pretty much all they could do.  I asked if it was legal for them to hold my passport, and they sort of shrugged and said, "Well.....basically, yes."  "So I am stuck?", I asked.  "Yes." they both said.  They wished me luck in the sort of way you wish someone luck who is about to attempt a slam dunk when they are only four feet tall.  I collected my various contracts and copies of my passport and headed for the door.  I left feeling somewhat relieved to have information from a reliable source, but mostly just beaten down.  I stopped to get some water from the water cooler with environmentally friendly origami paper cups before I headed back outside for my three block walk back to the parking lot and my bag with the phone in it so I could call the taxi.  I was mid gulp when I heard my name over the loudspeaker. My first impulse was a flutter of hope, had they forgotten to tell me about some loophole?  Was there still hope?  I rushed back to the window.  No.  Sadly, it was only that I had forgotten to collect my driver's license, which I had used as proof of ID.  "Not that you have any need for it here," said the woman with a knowing look as she handed it back. "No, I sighed, no chance of that."

I walked out for the second time, but decided I had better use the restroom while I had the chance.  Inside the toilets there was real toilet paper.   I am in America! I thought as I wiped my bum with soft quilted 2-ply.  It's the little things.  I left the office for the final time, and with every step and every gate I walked through to get back to the parking lot, the heat, my situation, and, well, everything felt a little more oppressive.  It's easy to forget until you get a reminder.  I made my way back to where I left the bag with the guard, who saw me coming and got my bag out when I was still 50 feet away.  He clearly couldn't wait to be rid of it.  I took out my phone and called Mr. Rashid, then sat on the sole bench, thankfully halfway in the shade, to wait for him to take me home, and hoped it would not have to be my home for too much longer.

Job Opportunities

There is nothing like sitting around in an office for three weeks with no work to do for motivating you to look for new jobs.  Actually, there is nothing like working for a company that doesn't respond to phone calls and emails, and has you working in a country illegally to motivate you to look for new jobs.  It's just a lucky coincidence that they happen to be paying me to do it on their time.

So, they still have not given me an Iqama.  I have been living here on an expired visa since July 23rd.  If I try to leave the country on an expired visa, the company (but really me, because they could refuse to pay it) would charge me $2,666.00 (ominous exact amount when I convert it from Riyals).  Obviously, I have been pretty concerned about this, so I have been sending emails asking them about my situation daily since we came back from Eid Break.  I have also called them everyday.  Two weeks later, they have still not responded to a single email or phone call.

In the meantime, I have been spending my time applying for other positions.  Last week, I got an interview with a women's vocational training college in Khobar (about 30 minutes away) that pays about $1,000 more per month, and would house us in a brand new compound.  It seems too good to be true.  They offered me the position the next day, and want me to start August 31st.  Great, right?  Wrong.  Like everything else in this country, it is not that easy.

First of all, there is the 30 day resignation notice that I need to give my old company, which obviously wouldn't finish before August 31st.  I asked if I could start a week later, and they told me they really needed someone now, or if I couldn't start on time, they would have to have me wait until December when the second trimester starts.  However, I do have about a week of vacation saved up, and could take that plus leave without pay for any days that might overlap, if that were the only problem.  But it isn't.  In Saudi, you are sponsored by your company, and your legal status in the country is provided by them.  So if you resign, the only way to legally remain in the country is to have your Iqama transferred to another company.  There are two problems with that, one, I still do not have an Iqama, and two, most companies do not want to simply hand you over to another company seeing as how they have paid to recruit you and paid your plane ticket and invested all the effort of bringing you here in the first place.  So the chances are slim to none that they would agree to transfer your Iqama.  What they are more likely to do is give you a final exit visa.  This means that you have to leave the country right away.

Even this wouldn't be so bad, if say, you could just leave, go to Bahrain, get a new visa, and then re-enter with the new company.  The problem is, most Saudi Visas must be issued in your country of origin.  Meaning, I would possibly have to fly home, start the visa application process all over again from scratch, and hope that my former company didn't do anything to prevent me from getting a new visa.

The other thing about all this, is that everyone gives you different advice.  Some people have said that since I don't have an Iqama yet, it is actually a good thing, and I can leave more easily, and the new company can issue me a business visa from Bahrain, no problem.  Since there is no Iqama to transfer, the old company has no hold on me.  Another person said that no, If I left before the Iqama was issued then that triggers a 2 year ban on getting any visas for Saudi in my name.  Another rumor is that if I tell my old company that I have another offer, they will not agree to release me, and without a final exit visa, I can not legally exit the country.

I spoke with an HR person at the new company who told me that they would try to get a business visa for me through Bahrain so that I wouldn't have to go all the way home to the United States.  They are currently bringing all their new teachers in on business visa's since they haven't yet received their LLC license in Saudi yet (they are a Brittish Company).  They will then eventually switch us over to Iqamas when they receive the license.  The problem with this is, my old company still has my passport and will not give it back until they issue an Iqama, making it impossible to leave the country, let alone get a new visa.  They are consulting with their lawyers and the Saudi Government Liaison to see what can be done.

In the meantime, I can't give notice, because if we can't figure out how to work it out so I can start in August, I won't be able to start until December, and I don't want my current company to fire me, or resign too soon, and then I will have to sit around for three months with no pay in order to start again in December.  It's a frustrating game of waiting for more information, and holding my breath to see what will happen.  Cross your fingers for me....

You Can Check Out Any Time You Like..... But You Can Never Leave

Lately, I have begun to get the impression that the company I work for has a whole department devoted specifically to slowly driving the people who work for it mad.  The housing situation, and there response to it (or lack there of) is just one example.  Much more serious, is the complete control the company has over the employees and there ability to leave.

Currently, I am living in a state of limbo.  They have my passport so that they can process my iqama, which is basically the equivalent of a green card in the US.  It takes most other companies one to two weeks to process an iqama.  My company tells us it will be four to six weeks, but most people I have talked to say it is never less than two months.  There is a girl from Canada who has been waiting for over 5 months now.  Apparently,  a Canadian ambassador somehow (probably inadvertently) insulted a Saudi Prince, and now it's taking three times as long as normal to process visas from Canada. I need my iqama to open a bank account here in Saudi, and generally, the company encourages you to hold on to your iqama, and they permanently keep your passport.  I am planning on sending my iqama back to them as soon as I have opened my bank account, in exchange for my passport.  You can only ever have one or the other, but not both,  company policy.  Currently, I am worried that I will not get my iqama processed before Ramadan, and since most Saudis don't work, or work very little during Ramadan, it is unlikely to be processed after Ramadan starts.  At the end of Ramadan is the Eid Holiday, which is a national holiday, and means two weeks of paid vacation for me.   The problem is, without an iqama, I can't get a re-entry visa, and without a re-entry visa, I can't leave the country. So that means it is increasingly likely that I will have to spend two weeks alone in my apartment. 

Most of the other teachers are planning on leaving the country because those who have been with the company all year have 30 days of paid leave in addition to the two weeks of Eid Holiday.  Up until about a week ago, everyone was supposed to get two weeks of paid leave for the Eid Holiday weather they were in the country or not.  Now, you must "fingerprint" in (our way of punching the time clock) on the day before and the day after Eid in order to get the full 2 weeks paid.  If you check in on one day either before or after Eid, but not both, you will only get one week of paid leave, but can take the other one as unpaid leave if you want.  This means that people who have 30 days leave saved up for the year, can leave on vacation but depending on if they took the thirty days before, or the thirty days after Eid, will have to return to Saudi Arabia either two weeks into their vacation, or two weeks early from their vacation, to collect full benefits.  The company made this change after they had already made everyone request their days off for the summer, and booked peoples flights.

Screwing with vacation time is one thing, but a lot of people schedule their holidays around professional development.  One girl I know had planned to go to Mexico to earn her CELTA certificate in a six week accelerated program.  She told the company about her plans a year in advance, and they were approved verbally, and also in an email.  However, when she requested the time off, which overlaps with the last week of school by only 3 days, all of which are after all exams and classes are over, and are only for reporting grades, which she has already submitted.  They denied her leave.  They told her that if she left early to attend this session, which would actually benefit them by giving her an advanced certification and make their hiring statistics look good, they would not pay her for any of her accumulated time off.  She would have to take the whole six weeks as pay without leave, and would loose her 30 days of accrued paid vacation.  Absolutely crazy.

Another guy recently found out that his mother has a terminal form of cancer.  He requested leave, but because it was four weeks before the summer holidays officially start, they only granted him one week. It takes about 2 days to travel to his home from Saudi, and about 2 days to return, so they are basically giving him 3 days at home.  Only it took them about two weeks to return his passport to him so he could leave in the first place, so now, he will leave for a week and then have to return to Saudi for about a week, and can then leave on his 30 days of accrued leave, which will now only be 23 days, and take two more days to travel back home again.  Absolutely crazy.

But it is no where near as bad as the story I heard of the girl whose mother died.  She wanted to go back for the funeral, but had to wait for the company to send her her passport.  She waited a week, and still no passport, so the family at home postponed the funeral for her for two weeks.  She waited, and still no passport.  Eventually the family couldn't wait any longer and had to have the funeral without her.  Six weeks after that, a total of 9 weeks from when she originally requested to leave, the company finally sent her her passport.

Apparently, the reason the company keeps peoples passports, and makes us apply for individual rather than multiple entry/exit visas is to prevent teachers from coming, working for a few months, and then disappearing.  I have heard that it is typical for Muslims to use the opportunity of teaching to earn enough money to travel to Mecca and Medina, perform Hajj, and then return home, suddenly, and without informing the company at all.  While I'm sure that has happened from time to time, I think the strict rules on leaving and not having control of your own passport, and the company constantly changing their minds about allowing or not allowing vacations has in fact had the opposite of its intended effect.  Rather than making teachers want to stay, everyone is now so paranoid at the thought of not being able to leave if they need to, that they constantly apply for exit visas, which are good for 3 months, just so that they can always have their passports with them and an exit visa in case they need to leave for an emergency.  

If leaving for vacation is hard, leaving for good is even harder.  It's so complicated and difficult, that teachers usually do one of two things:  renew their contract just to avoid the hassle of finally signing out, or get an exit visa for "vacation", wait until the end of a month when they get paid, and then just leave and never come back.  I think you will understand why this later option is so appealing after reading the following story of how complicated it is simply to end a contract.

 One woman here runs a school for underprivileged children in Ethiopia called English Alive.  Funding was low this year, so she came to Saudi to work for 6 months in order to have money to pay the salaries of the teachers working at her school.  Her contract originally ended May 30th.  The university requested that she stay an extra week, until the 6th of June so that she could help proctor exams and grade the essays on the final exam (as it turns out, the final exam was on May 27th and there was no essay on it.)  She agreed to stay on that extra week, even though it would give her only one week once she arrived to prepare for final exams at her own school and organize and run the graduation ceremony there.  Then last week, when she was trying to get written confirmation of the verbal agreement to stay an extra week that they had made two month prior, they told her that she would not be leaving on the 6th if she stayed.  Or even the 7th or the 8th.  She would have to stay in Riyadh for 7 working days beyond her contract date, unpaid, in order for them to process all of the final paperwork, which actually works out to 2 weeks because of when the weekend falls.  This would mean she would miss all of her own school's exams and graduation and end of the year events, not to mention having to tell her husband and two children that are crying for her every night that she would not be home for another month or more.  She obviously didn't want to do that.  So last weekend she went to Riyadh to try to start the process early and be able to leave as soon as possible, perhaps even going back to the original contract end date if that was necessary.  She sat in the office for three hours before they bothered to notice her there at all, then with only 15 minutes left in the work day, she spoke with someone.  He told her that the process absolutely takes two weeks and can't be any shorter, and can't start before the end of your contract date, because it has to do with settling how much pay they owe you, which can't be calculated until you stop earning pay, etc..  His solution was that she resign now, on the spot, on May 23rd, and she may be able to be on a flight out by June 6th.  Of course, if she resigned that day, she would not get any of her benifits, or the return flight payed for since she would have breached her original contract.  

After arguing with the man until closing time, he left with no resolution, and she stayed behind in the empty lobby to wait for a taxi.  She couldn't help it, it was just so frustrating she began to cry.  Thinking she was alone, she didn't bother holding back the tears.  Two men in thobes who were preparing to leave saw her there and wanted to know what was wrong.  At first she just shrugged and tried to stop crying and wave them on their way, but they wouldn't be dissuaded.  Rather then tell the whole story she just told them curtly that they would cry if they worked for the company too.  As it turns out, they did happen to work for the company.  In fact, it was the vice president of human resources and another equally important man.  They brought her up to their office, which was lined with oriental rugs and pillows and had her tell them the whole story.  By the end, the man seemed outraged at how she had been treated, and told her not to worry, that he would sort it all out, and since he was coming down that weekend to look at alternative accommodations, he would bring her her passport and ticket and exit visa with him when he came so she could leave right away.  Obviously, she was grateful.  But having worked for the company for six months now, she was also wary.  She had been promised many things that had never happened.  

Things looked pretty promising at the beginning of the week.  On Sunday, she emailed her new buddy  the vice president of human resources to thank him and reconfirm his promise to bring her her passport and necessary documents on the weekend.  He responded and reconfirmed, and even copied her on an email to the man she had argued with to buy her a ticket for June 6th.    She waited to hear from him again toward the end of the week about when he would be coming on the weekend, since she wanted to be sure to be home when he arrived. We get two shopping trips on Friday and Saturday to special malls, and they leave in the early afternoon and don't return until the late evening so she wanted to know when he was coming to know which trip she should take.  She emailed him on Wednesday with no response.  She emailed again on Thursday morning, and by Thursday afternoon with still no response, she was starting to worry.   So she tracked down his phone number and tried calling him.  No answer.  She tried texting him.  No response.  It's hard not to lose hope when your one chance to leave the country on time seems to be falling through.

Then, on Friday ten minutes before the bus to the mall left, he called her and asked her to meet him at 3:30  the Tamimi, a supermarket in Al Khobar where the bus drops us off and picks us up each Friday.  Elated, she threw on her abaya (that's one great thing about the abaya, you can wear anything underneath and be ready in 2 minutes) and hopped on the bus with us.  When the bus arrived at 3:27, she texted him to let him know she was there and then settled in to wait in the air conditioned front lobby of the store.  At 3:45 she tried to call him and got no answer.  She waited unitl 4pm, then tried calling again.  No luck.  She waited some more, calling or texting every 15 minutes until 6:30, when she finally decided she had waited long enough.  By now, she was preparing for the worst.  It was extra frustrating because why on earth would someone call and ask to meet you just 45 minutes before the meeting, and then not show up?  Not only that, to not call or anything?   I tried to make her feel better by pointing out that there was a very good chance he had been in an accident, given the frequency of accidents around here, before realizing that suggesting someone may be seriously injured or dead is not the best way to brighten the mood.

Turns out, someone had died.  The man's nephew in Paris.  He called her at 10pm on Saturday evening, apologizing for missing the meeting and explaining the situation.  He went on for 10 minutes before mentioning that he was outside the apartment building with her passport and exit visa.  Again, she threw on her handy abaya and went to collect he ticket to freedom.  Only, sadly, her ticket was not among the papers he gave her.  He told her they were still working on the tickets, but promised they would email her with the details as soon as they purchased them.

In fact, they did email her on Sunday night.  The internet is shotty at best and when she came home from work, she saw that she had an email with the subject: Ticket # 53902850.  She tried to open it, but after waiting about 10 minutes and refreshing and restarting a few times, she finally gave up and went to the dentist to have a root canal done before returning to Ethiopia.  When she got home she saw that there were two new messages, and was finally able to open them.  Apparently, the first email was asking her to confirm that the flight they had reserved was correct so they could book it.  This was sent to her yahoo email account on Sunday morning, but since the University blocks gmail and yahoo and hotmail and all third party email addresses (which the company is aware of), so she wasn't able to get it until she arrived home from the dentist at 10:30pm.  Then there was another email from that afternoon around 2pm saying URGENT!  We need to book the flight and if you don't email back with confirmation it won't be the companies fault that you can't get on the flight you want. Apparently no one thought to try her University email, or if it was that urgent, to pick up the phone and call her. The third email was letting her know the first flight was now fully booked, and asking for confirmation for a flight that left June 7th at 3am.  She wrote saying that was fine. 

Now all that is left is to sort out banking details for the final pay.  They want her to send bank details for a bank in Ethiopia they can sent her final pay to.  She does't want to do that for two reasons, one she doesn't trust that they will, in fact, pay her once she has left the country, and two, when they send your money directly to a foreign bank, the company uses their own exchange rate, which is considerably worse than the rate at normal banks.  The company told her that her bank account in Saudi will close immediately when she leaves.  Having been told many things in the past by the company that turn out to be completely untrue, she asked the bank herself if that was true. The bank told her that they only close the account after three months of inactivity, or if she herself asks them to close it.  So, in theory, it would be easier for her to have the money sent to her Saudi bank account, and then have an Ethiopian friend here withdraw the money for her and send it through her normal channels, a man who travels back and forth between Ethiopia and Saudi every month, bringing money from expats home to their families.  She is struggling now to get them to agree to this.
  
So now we wait, in hopeful optimism to see if she will in fact be issued a ticket at 3am on the 7th, with all her bonuses and final pay sent to the right bank account.  I'm looking forward to what I'm sure will eventually be my own fight to leave the country at the end of my contract next year.  My contract technically ends on August 30th, 2014.  I know that Grad School will likely start the week before that, and I will need at least a week before that to pack up and move once I get home.  My original plan was to use my saved days of accrued leave and exit the country on July 30th or before.  Something tells me I need to start fighting now if I'm going to actually be able to leave the country in time next year.

Standard Arabian Business

Me in my fake abaya

I didn't sleep well.  I kept getting up to check the time, worried that my alarm wouldn’t go off for some reason.  Wouldn't it figure that when I finally did drift into my first deep sleep in 48 hours, my alarm went off.  The first thing I did was check my email to see if the company had responded to me.  They had.  My instructions were to be in the Lobby at 10am, and not to take the 9am bus, because that bus was to take the teachers to school, and I needed to come to the office instead.  Relieved, I decided to try to get a little more sleep.  At 9:05, I heard a knocking sound, I sat up in bed.  Is someone knocking on my door? I heard it again.  This time I was sure it was my door. I got out of bed and started to make my way to the door, but stopped short half way there.  I was in shorts and a tank top.  I needed my abaya.  The knock came again louder, and I hurried to throw on my makeshift abaya. By the time I had frantically thrown on my abaya and grabbed a scarf to throw over my head, there was no one at the door anymore. The phone rang.  It took me a minute to locate it on the wall by the TV... But finally I found it. Hello? I said. Someone answered and said something in Arabic, and then the word, "downstairs". I said, 10am? Or now? And the man responded now. I said please wait 5 minutes, but am not sure if I was understood or not. Properly covered with all important documents in tow, I made my way downstairs and was ushered into a van.  I was the only one in the van besides the driver and his buddy.  I wondered if there would always be two men escorting me around or if last night and tonight were just special occasions. 

I’m sure you will all be relieved to know that not only have the golden arches made their way over here, but also the Red Lobster (though I doubt I will be partaking in a Lobster fest anytime soon, as  women can only eat in restaurants with their husbands or another male relative). In the light of day, I could see a lot more out the window of the van.  Unfortunately, most of what I saw wasn’t worth looking at.  Everywhere there was new construction, surrounded by mounds of excavated dirt and left over construction rubble.  Everything was shades of tan and brown and no plants anywhere.  The only color being the neon signs on some of the newer buildings.

Eventually we pulled up in front of one of these strip buildings.  I can’t exactly say we parked, as parking, like forming lines, seems to be one of those things that Saudi’s just don’t do well.  Once the spaces in front of a building were taken, the next vehicle to come along would just stop anywhere along the store front.  Sometimes directly behind a parked car, other times perpendicular to several cars.  I sincerely hoped none of the previous parkers needed to get out. The driver and his friend got out, but motioned for me to wait.  I waited.  Eventually they came out again.  As far as I could tell, they had gone in with nothing and come out again with nothing.  I couldn’t read the Arabic sign, or see into the shop, so I have no idea what it is they did. 

We left that shop, and shortly pulled up in front of another building.  Again they motioned for me to wait in the car, which was sticking out at least ¾ into the road.  There were no markings or sign in front, but there was inexplicably a number taped to the glass door. The driver and his lackey went in, came out, and went in again. Finally they came out again, waited a while outside, and went in yet again.  They did this about half a dozen times, sometimes together, sometimes alone.  I couldn’t figure it out, but they seemed very serious about it.   The driver wiped his brow and looking concerned, though I doubt it was for me. I think I was just brought along on the morning errand run. Finally, a woman came out and got into the van with me.  She sat in the very back and did not say anything to me.  I thought she might be one of the teachers too, but she looked Arabic, and unfriendly, so I didn’t say anything.

We finally arrived at the company headquarters.  It was large, well kept, and there was even a small patch of grass with a palm tree out front.  And by small, I mean, the very definition of a postage stamp lawn.  If you were to have a picnic on it, all that would fit would be the basket.  We went inside, and it was just like any large office building in the US.  There was a reception desk, and two staircases going up on either side.  I looked around for some clue about where to go.  I asked the man at the reception desk, but he just looked at me with confusion.  The woman who had come with me in the van said, oh, are you new?  I’ll take you up.  I thanked her and followed her up to the third floor where we were ushered into an office and told to have a seat and wait.  There were two desks, one was empty, and the man at the other desk was standing up shouting into a phone.  A door on the far wall led into a third office. Presumably for the big boss, as he turned several people away from going in.  Apparently, he was in a very important meeting. 

After about 45 minutes of watching the guy at the desk shuffle papers, make more calls, and in general handle more business, all while standing up, he handed me a folder with my contract and paperwork and asked me to look it over.  I reread the contract, and noticed, that instead of the contract ending August 2014, as my copy of the contract that I had signed before coming read, this one said August 2015.  He had left the room and so I couldn't ask him about it.  After another 45 minutes or so, he returned and said he was finally ready for me.  I asked about the end date of the contract, and he said that we had signed the first contract in February, and had I come in February, it would have stayed the same.  But they have a mandatory rollover in the third month, because it is too close to the end of the school year.  He told me that actually it was better for me, because I would still get a ticket home for summer (pro-rated amount of time off, won’t be the normal 30 days since I have not been here long enough) and a return ticket at the end of the year as well, If I had only the August 2014 contract, I would not get the summer paid leave or vacation ticket.  I explained that I was planning to go to graduate school and probably wouldn't come back.  He said that was fine, too.  I can leave whenever I want, I just won’t get the return ticket. I explained that I came under the assumption based on my contract that I could leave at the end of August and get my return ticket.  He said to just use the summer vacation ticket as the return ticket then.

He then showed me the other change to my contract.  Originally, I was supposed to go to Princess Nora University in Riyadh, but they had to change, and were now going to send me to Jouf.  Jouf is in the northern part of Saudi, near Jordan.  It’s a very small place.  I was kind of pleased; I have never been one for big cities, so it was fine with me.  He got me a ticket for the 29^th of April to fly to Jouf.  While he was filling out more paperwork (still standing, even though there was a perfectly good chair behind him) the big boss came over and asked what he was going to do with me.  He said Jouf, and the big boss said Jouf? And then ensued a somewhat heated discussion in Arabic.  Finally the big boss looked up at me and said, how would you like to go to Dammam?  Dammam is on the east coast of Saudi Arabia, near Bahrain.  Now, having never been anywhere in Saudi, one place is more or less like any other as far as I’m concerned, so six of one half dozen of the other. Sure, I said.  He explained that one of their teachers father’s had died, so she was returning home for the funeral, and would not be coming back.  I would be taking her place. 

Turns out, the woman on the van with me, was also headed to Dammam.  She had arrived three weeks earlier and had wanted to stay in Riyadh since she had family here, but there were no openings, so she had finally agreed to go to Dammam, which is relatively close, only three and half or four hours away.  So they worked on getting us tickets.  First they had us flying out on the 28^th.  Then someone said, no, no, the train is better.  They should take the train.  So then they tried to get us tickets for the train on Saturday the 26^th.  There were three trains, one that left at 10am, another at 1pm, and finally a 5pm train.  I thought that the 1pm train would be best, because we would arrive by 5pm, giving us time to settle in before starting work on Sunday. The other woman, Leila, preferred leaving at 5pm, because there was nothing to do anyway and it might be cooler by then. I asked if there was anything to see from the train, and everyone laughed.  Sand, just sand and more sand, they said. Turns out the 1pm train was full anyway.  So we went for the 5pm, but the website wasn't working to book the train, so we left without getting our tickets, with the promise that they would email them to us.

Leila and I made our way back to the van shaking our heads at the new norm of disorganization we were facing.