Bobshi was true to his word, and he and his cousin picked me up at 4am and took me to the train station. I asked them to wait for me just in case they didn't let me on the train with just the photocopy. I went to the booth and printed my ticket, but because Bobshi and his cousin were waiting, I didn't bother going to the ticket window to try to change the class. Instead I decided to go ahead through security just to make sure I would make it. The man sent me through without even asking to see my ID, but the real hurdle came after they sent my bag through security, and I was sent through the special security section for woman where she had the wand to scan us and checked IDs. She looked at my passport and then flipped to the second page of the photocopy of my visa. In my head I began chanting, please don't notice the date, please don't notice the date, please don't notice the date, and miraculously, she didn't say anything, but just waved me through. I attributed it to it being early, and her not having her coffee yet. Either way, it was a relief. I called Bobshi and let him know that he could go, I was safely on my way.
I only waited in the waiting room about 10 minutes before we began boarding the train. I was so relieved just to be on the train, that I had forgotten about the first class ticket and just boarded the train at the first door that didn't have a big line in front of it. I found a seat near a plug in case I wanted to charge my tablet and settled in. I pulled out my book, and before long, I was asleep. But not for long, I was woken by the train conductor to check my ticket, which he did, and then moved on. I fell back asleep. Somewhere after the first stop in another town, they checked my ticket again, and I fell back asleep a third time. At the last stop before Riyadh, with maybe an hour left in the journey, they checked tickets again. This time the guy who checked my ticket looked at me confused. He told me I was in the wrong class. This is second class, he said, you should be in first class. I had forgotten when I got on to look for first class. I shrugged, at this point, I was comfortable and didn't much care, but he insisted, he told me to go forward and find the first class carraige. I figured that since I had paid for it afterall, I should at least enjoy the last part of the journey in comfort and style.
So I gathered my bag and began walking through the train cars. I passed two more like the one I was in, and then two more just like it but with only men, and I got a lot of funny looks. I hurried through as fast as I could. The next car was the cafe car, with just men again. After the cafe car was first class. Instead of two chairs on each side, this car had bigger leather seats, two on one side and only one on the other. There were no empty seats in this car, so I started to move on to the next car, but was blocked by the snack cart. I waited in the aisle and felt the eyes of everyone in the car who was awake, staring at me. Finally, the snack guy was finished and let me pass. I went into the next car and found this car also full. There were one or two seats empty, but they were next to men only. I carried on to another car and it was the same way. I weighed my options. It was impossible to sit next to a man, but I also didn't want to have to make my way back through the train to my old seat. I kept going to one more carriage, and again, there were no free seats.
I gave up and made my way back, enduring more akward stares. When I got back to my old seat, it was taken. I sighed. I should have just stayed put. I looked around for the guy who had checked my ticket, and didn't see him, but I did find another empty seat and decided that I should take it while I had the chance. So I settled back into my 150 sar 2nd class seat. Funny that after all the fuss and worry from my Saudi friends about how horrible it would be to take the lower class seats, and all the insistance that I should be in first class, I ended up, happily ignorant in second class. I should have gone on to third class to see if they were right about all the "smellies" in third class.
About 20 minutes later, we arrived in Riyadh and the next adventure began. I know Riyadh is more conservative than Dammam, and since I had a niqab now, I thought perhaps I should wear it, to blend in, and because I might get a better rate on the taxi if they though I was muslim. I went into the bathroom and tied on the niqab, then I walked outside to try to find a taxi driver. The address for the head office in Riyadh was "North Ring Road, between exits 1 & 2". I showed the taxi driver the address and the name of the company, and he told me that he knew the area, but didn't know the company name. At least, I think that is what he was telling me because he was speaking in Arabic. I had already used all of my Arabic just to ask him to take me to the place, so I switched to English. When he saw that I spoke English, he asked me why I was covered. I thought about pointing out to him that for all he knew I was a practicing muslim who just happened to speak English, and it was required by law to have the abaya, and by stigma to have everything else, but then he laughed at me and I just felt stupid. He couldn't help me anyway because he didn't know the place, so I just walked away.
I went back into the train station, went to the bathroom, and took off the niqab. It seemed to be causing more problems than I thought it solved. Then I called the number of a taxi one of the other girls had given me. Unfortunately, he knew where the accomodations were for Edex people, but he didn't know where the office was. Frustrated, I went outside again, this time to the other side of the building far away from the first driver I approached. I saw a taxi coming to drop off a woman, and tried to flag him down, but he carried on after he dropped her off. So I crossed the road to another taxi who seemed to be waiting around not doing anything, but he spoke no English and couldn't read the address I gave him, so I turned around to go back again, when the driver I tried to flag down earlier pulled up. He had seen me after all but couldn't stop in the unloading zone because of the police. I asked him and he knew the area and said we would find it. He asked for 40 riyals, I asked him to accept 30. He agreed and we were on our way.
He was a Pakistani guy who had been in Riyadh for 7 years. He had a wife and two kids at home and went back for a month every year or every other year. He said he stopped because he could sense that I needed him. We talked about working in Saudi, and how we were both trapped by our employers. We comiserated about the bait and switch, about the job advertized being different that what was presented on entry, and about how the visa and iqama stystem held people prisoner, and how the money was just enough to make it seem like it was all worth it. We talked about what we would be doing if we werent here, and what we would do with all the money we were earning, and we talked about all the worst parts of Saudi. We talked so much we got lost. We went between exit 1 and 2 several times. Finally we called the office. He spoke first to someone in Arabic, who recognizing his accent and passed him off to another Pakistani. He described how to get there, and we were off again, and about 10 minutes later we arrived at the office. I handed him 40 riyals after all, since we had gotten lost, and took his number in case I needed him again. Then stepped out of the taxi, took a deep breath, and prepared myself for the mayem I knew I would face inside the office.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Saturday, August 23, 2014
Cat Sitting
It seems cats are my destiny. Or, at least, cat sitting is my destiny. For the last week I have been watching a 4 month old kitten named Snoop for a Lebanese guy who had family visiting who were allergic to cats. I didn't mind at all. With all of the stress about switching companies, a little fluffy ball of softness is just what I needed.
When she first arrived, she was pretty shy. She sniffed her way around the apartment, but seemed more like an old cat than a young kitten with energy. I worried a little when even after the first day she was apathetic to her balls of catnip and seemed more annoyed than interested when I dangled a string for her. I shouldn't have worried. After another day and a half, she had completely taken over my apartment. She decided that the armchair I used as my desk, was actually her armchair, and would meow angrily when I tried to move her onto the floor.
We finally agreed on an arrangement where she would sit on the arm of the armchair and watch me type on the computer. This worked for a while, until she decided she was a much better writer than I was and insisted on taking over the typing. Here is a sample of her work....
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igdhejwo aiiiiiiiiii oooooooooooooooooooooooooojiewhfewi iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiahfkdhsofffffffhnneeeeeeee eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekajosppppppppppppppp
Now, maybe I shouldn't judge, but it's a little too wordy for my taste. I mean, she doesn't even bother with punctuation. Who does she think she is? ee cummings?
When we weren't fighting over the computer, we fought over my food. She had a perfectly nice bowl of kitty food, but seemed far more interested in what i was making. She would sit in her armchair, and watch me chop onions or tomatoes. Her head would follow the knife up and down like she was nodding approval, and every once in a while she would sniff at the food disdainfully and then turn away. I don't think she was much of a vegetarian, at least, not until I had cooked it. Once the food was ready, she definitely felt entitled to trying it first. I suppose she was doing me a favor, you know the royal food taster checking for poison and all... but I can't help but think her motives were less pure.
I say I was watching the cat, but really, she was watching me. If I went into the bedroom, she would follow. If I went back into the kitchen/living room, she followed again. She even followed me to the bathroom. She liked to sit outside, staring at me from the slots in the bottom of the door, waiting impatiently for me to flush and open the door. Then she would dash into the bathroom and wait for me to flush and frantically try to get at the water rushing down the drain in the bathroom floor. I'm not sure what she was after.... but she had a strange fascination for her own poo as well. Every Time I would clean our her litter box (with a spatula, he forgot to leave a scoop and a spatula was the closest thing they had on our shopping trip) she thought I was playing a game with her, and she would try to knock the poop out of the scooper before I could get it in the trashcan. Sadly, she was pretty good. I always eventually won, but she blocked at least 1 of every 3 shots.
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She also like to come after my feet, but only once they were safely tucked away under the covers in my bed. She would jump from one foot to the other, while I moved them back and forth. Sometimes she would look at me as if asking for help... she seemed to be implying that it wasn't fair she was doing all the work when there were two problems to deal with, and two of us to handle it. Eventually she would settle in, but she didn't want to have to share the bed with me, especially if I had fallen asleep and wasn't petting her. She prefered to sleep on the nightstand, which was slightly higher than the bed, so she could look down her nose at me while I slept.
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She was an early riser, and obviously felt that I too, should wake up around 3:30 in the morning to help her chase down real or imagined bugs that were leading her on a chase all over the apartment. When I declined to take part, she would jump into bed and insist that I pet her as a reward for all that hard work. After a few minutes of petting, she would jump down and start the whole process over.
Her second favorite place to sleep (besides my armchair) was on my shoes. She usually only slept on them right before I needed to go somewhere. I don't know how she knew. I guess dogs are kind of cool because they can fetch your slippers. But who wants slobbery slippers? I have something much better, pre-warmed shoes. Which would be a lot nicer if I lived in the tundra instead of the desert.
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Snoop also liked being held, which is kind of unusual for cats. I've had cats who thought they were parrots and liked to sit on my shoulders, but I had never had a cat before who insisted on being held like a baby. She liked to lay on her back and stick her paws up in the air and have you rub her belly. It was strange, but we watched many an episode of Modern Family this way... that and playing with a string that once held my pants together. Eventually my arm would get tired of the string game and I tied it to the legs of the table, and she had a sort of kitty tetherball arrangement going with it. Similar to real tetherball, she sometimes hit herself in the face with the knot at the end of the string, or got it wrapped all the way around the pole. I would reach over with my toe and give it a little kick in the other direction, and off she would go, chasing it around until it was completely unwound and ready to hit her in the face again.
By the end of the week, we had become pretty close, Snoop and I. I wasn't looking forward to giving her back. I knew the apartment would feel a lot emptier and quieter when she had gone. I think the Lebanese guy understood how hard it might be for me, so to ease the pain, he brought over a delicious Lebanese meal. I had tabuli and grilled meat and yogurt with cucumbers in it and some sort of pastry with meat in it that was delicious and a lentil soup and lots of humus and some crazy delicious creamy garlic sauce. The whole time he was apologizing because it wasn't authentic Lebanese food, just a Saudi approximation, so it wasn't great but it tasted fantastic to me. The food helped for sure, but I still felt sad when I gave her one last cuddle and put her in her carrier case to go home.
After they left, I kept forgetting she was gone and would look around for her whenever I heard a noise. I'm in bed now, and I just caught myself sliding my feet back and forth waiting for her to pounce on them... I think I will suggest that my Lebanese friend take a trip to Bahrain or Abu Dhabi soon. He should really get out more. Of course Snoop can stay with me while he's away...
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| Snoop in her armchair |
We finally agreed on an arrangement where she would sit on the arm of the armchair and watch me type on the computer. This worked for a while, until she decided she was a much better writer than I was and insisted on taking over the typing. Here is a sample of her work....
Now, maybe I shouldn't judge, but it's a little too wordy for my taste. I mean, she doesn't even bother with punctuation. Who does she think she is? ee cummings?
When we weren't fighting over the computer, we fought over my food. She had a perfectly nice bowl of kitty food, but seemed far more interested in what i was making. She would sit in her armchair, and watch me chop onions or tomatoes. Her head would follow the knife up and down like she was nodding approval, and every once in a while she would sniff at the food disdainfully and then turn away. I don't think she was much of a vegetarian, at least, not until I had cooked it. Once the food was ready, she definitely felt entitled to trying it first. I suppose she was doing me a favor, you know the royal food taster checking for poison and all... but I can't help but think her motives were less pure.
She was an early riser, and obviously felt that I too, should wake up around 3:30 in the morning to help her chase down real or imagined bugs that were leading her on a chase all over the apartment. When I declined to take part, she would jump into bed and insist that I pet her as a reward for all that hard work. After a few minutes of petting, she would jump down and start the whole process over. Her second favorite place to sleep (besides my armchair) was on my shoes. She usually only slept on them right before I needed to go somewhere. I don't know how she knew. I guess dogs are kind of cool because they can fetch your slippers. But who wants slobbery slippers? I have something much better, pre-warmed shoes. Which would be a lot nicer if I lived in the tundra instead of the desert.
By the end of the week, we had become pretty close, Snoop and I. I wasn't looking forward to giving her back. I knew the apartment would feel a lot emptier and quieter when she had gone. I think the Lebanese guy understood how hard it might be for me, so to ease the pain, he brought over a delicious Lebanese meal. I had tabuli and grilled meat and yogurt with cucumbers in it and some sort of pastry with meat in it that was delicious and a lentil soup and lots of humus and some crazy delicious creamy garlic sauce. The whole time he was apologizing because it wasn't authentic Lebanese food, just a Saudi approximation, so it wasn't great but it tasted fantastic to me. The food helped for sure, but I still felt sad when I gave her one last cuddle and put her in her carrier case to go home.
After they left, I kept forgetting she was gone and would look around for her whenever I heard a noise. I'm in bed now, and I just caught myself sliding my feet back and forth waiting for her to pounce on them... I think I will suggest that my Lebanese friend take a trip to Bahrain or Abu Dhabi soon. He should really get out more. Of course Snoop can stay with me while he's away...
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The Saudi Arabia Railways Organization
So I spent the weekend trying to book a train ticket to Riyadh. When I say I spent the weekend, I literally mean that I spent the weekend doing nothing but that. The first step was making sure I could board the train with only a copy of my passport and and an expired visa. Like everything here, I heard conflicting answers. Some insisted that I would need an iqama. Others said they had traveled with just a photocopy. Still others had been stopped not in Dammam, but in Riyadh when they tried to return for not having a roaming letter from the company. To cover my bases, I asked for a roaming letter from the admin lady in our office. Of course, they can not issue a roaming letter, it has to come from the men's campus, and it just so happens that the man who has the official company stamp which is necessary to make the roaming letter valid is on vacation, and took the stamp with him, or locked it in his desk and took the key with him, or something. Bottom line, there was no possibility I could get a roaming letter.
So I called the office in Riyadh and got no answer as usual. Then one of the other teachers told me the secret, she said that if I texted Mohammed first to tell him I would call, he would pick up. So I tried that, and miraculously it worked. He answered and I asked him if Osama was telling me the truth about the iqama, and he told me that he thought this time he was. Then I asked him if I could have a roaming letter from Riyadh since I couldn't get one her in Dammam. He told me it would take until Monday to get a letter to me. I asked if he could just email it to me as an attachment so I could print it off rather than wait for the mail. He acted as though he had never considered the possibility of attaching anything to email before... Hmm... That might work.... He promised to email me the letter by 1pm that day. I reluctantly hung up, not anxious to severe the first two way communication I had had with the company in over three weeks of trying to reach them. True to his word, Mohammed delivered, sort of. I got the email with the roaming letter attached at 2:45. Just in time to find paper (there is always a shortage of paper) and print the letter before the end of the workday on Thursday.
Roaming letter safely in hand, I begun the process of trying to reserve a train ticket. I started with the website, which only sort of works. I was able to find the train schedule and could see that there were seats available, but when I clicked to reserve a seat, I was always redirected to the home page instead of the reservations page. I tried on three different computers and had the same problem. I tried hours apart and still had the same problem. Finally I attempted to call and make a reservation. Thankfully there was a menu in English. I followed the prompts and selected the destination, and the class (there are three classes, third class for 60 riyals, second class for 75 riyals, and 150 for first class), and then the time, and finally they asked for the date. Only they wanted the date in Hijri calender, not Gregorian. In Saudi Arabia, they follow two calenders, the Gregorian calender we all know and love, and a calender based on lunar dates where it is currently the year 1437 or something. I obviously did not know the Hijri date equivalent to Sundays date and wasn't fast enough at googling it. The phone reservation timed out before I could make my selection. So I figured out the dates of travel, and just in case they asked, the Hijri date for my birthday too, before calling in again. The second time around, I got the dates entered, and was nearly done when they asked for the iqama number. I felt like screaming.
Well, so much for a phone reservation. Luckily, because of all our adventures with Fozia, I was not without hope. I contacted one of the guys from a party we went to and asked him to help me make a reservation. I gave him all my information, and my passport number and he was able to make a reservation for me online. I guess the Arabic version of the website was working while the English site wasn't. He used my phone number and told me I should be getting a text from them with the reservation number soon. All I would have to do then was get to the train station to pay for my ticket, or go to an ATM or pay online before Saturday at 8pm. My phone is a Nokia, the old school invincible kind that can be dropped two stories and into the toilet keep on going (I know, I've done it). The only problem is the charging port doesn't work anymore so to charge the phone, I have to remove the battery and charge the battery separately. It just so happened that when he made the reservation, my phone was on charge. I didn't think it would matter, but apparently it did because I never received a reservation number by text to confirm.
The following day, I met up with another of Fozia's friends for lunch, since he was leaving for Jordan for a quick vacation. I asked him if we could swing by the train station so I could confirm and pay for my reservation. I figured I could go in and give them my phone number or passport number and they could retrieve the reservation. My friend wasn't so sure. He felt thought it would be better if he went in for me because he didn't think they would speak English, and as we are not related, we should not go in together. So I waited in the car while he went in to try to sort it out. I tried to give him money to pay for it, but he just told me to keep the money and wait until he came out, then I could pay him. After some time he came out to get my passport copy and said they didn't find the reservation and he would make a new one. I asked him to try to get third class but if there were no seats left second would be ok. He looked at me like I was crazy and told me I should take first class, or at the very least second class. He said that third class was with all the smelly people. I told him I planned on sleeping the whole way, so it didn't matter to me and wasn't worth the extra 80 riyals. He looked doubtful. Again I tried to give him the money but he told me to wait. Finally he came out and gave me my reservation paperwork. I asked if it was paid for and he said, no he just made the reservation. I told him I thought the reservation would expire if I didn't pay at least 12 hours before the train left. He told me he didn't think so and anyway there would be plenty of seats, it wouldn't be full the day of. I was doubtful since I had looked at seats on the train the previous week and they had been sold out. I told him it would be better if I just ran in and paid myself. He said that would be suspicious since he had just gone in for me. I didn't push it since he had already done me the favor of making the reservation and because I figured I could just ask someone to go to the ATM and pay for me (I couldn't do it myself because we can't get bank accounts without an iqama) and I would pay them back.
Finally, it was Saturday. The day I had to give back Snoop, the kitty and my last chance to pay for the ticket. So I asked Snoops owner to use his online account to pay for the ticket for me and I would give him cash. He was happy to do it, and when he pulled up the reservation number, it was clear that my friend had booked me for a first class ticket instead of 3rd or 2nd class. I know he thought he was doing me a favor, and didn't want to see me stuck in with all the smellies... But you know, he was not the one paying for it... best intentions. So I offered Snoops owner the 150sar in cash, and thought perhaps I could ask at the station in the morning to have the ticket changed. He refused to take the money, insisting I might need the cash in Riyadh, and that I could pay him when I got back. I told him I would be more than ok with cash and that he should take it. He refused. We played the game of shoving money back and forth insistently for a while, and finally I gave up. I think he wanted it as an excuse to see me again, and I was happy to have it as an excuse to see Snoop again. So, I was relieved. The ticket was bought and paid for, now all I needed was a ride to the train station. Luckily, another of Fozia's friends came through and said he would take me to the train station at 4 in the morning. He told me he always stayed up that late anyway. I was surprised, but grateful. Thank goodness for all of Fozia's friends. So I packed my bags, set my alarm for 3am and went to bed (sort of) early, praying that Bobshi wouldn't decide to fall asleep early...
So I called the office in Riyadh and got no answer as usual. Then one of the other teachers told me the secret, she said that if I texted Mohammed first to tell him I would call, he would pick up. So I tried that, and miraculously it worked. He answered and I asked him if Osama was telling me the truth about the iqama, and he told me that he thought this time he was. Then I asked him if I could have a roaming letter from Riyadh since I couldn't get one her in Dammam. He told me it would take until Monday to get a letter to me. I asked if he could just email it to me as an attachment so I could print it off rather than wait for the mail. He acted as though he had never considered the possibility of attaching anything to email before... Hmm... That might work.... He promised to email me the letter by 1pm that day. I reluctantly hung up, not anxious to severe the first two way communication I had had with the company in over three weeks of trying to reach them. True to his word, Mohammed delivered, sort of. I got the email with the roaming letter attached at 2:45. Just in time to find paper (there is always a shortage of paper) and print the letter before the end of the workday on Thursday.
Roaming letter safely in hand, I begun the process of trying to reserve a train ticket. I started with the website, which only sort of works. I was able to find the train schedule and could see that there were seats available, but when I clicked to reserve a seat, I was always redirected to the home page instead of the reservations page. I tried on three different computers and had the same problem. I tried hours apart and still had the same problem. Finally I attempted to call and make a reservation. Thankfully there was a menu in English. I followed the prompts and selected the destination, and the class (there are three classes, third class for 60 riyals, second class for 75 riyals, and 150 for first class), and then the time, and finally they asked for the date. Only they wanted the date in Hijri calender, not Gregorian. In Saudi Arabia, they follow two calenders, the Gregorian calender we all know and love, and a calender based on lunar dates where it is currently the year 1437 or something. I obviously did not know the Hijri date equivalent to Sundays date and wasn't fast enough at googling it. The phone reservation timed out before I could make my selection. So I figured out the dates of travel, and just in case they asked, the Hijri date for my birthday too, before calling in again. The second time around, I got the dates entered, and was nearly done when they asked for the iqama number. I felt like screaming.
Well, so much for a phone reservation. Luckily, because of all our adventures with Fozia, I was not without hope. I contacted one of the guys from a party we went to and asked him to help me make a reservation. I gave him all my information, and my passport number and he was able to make a reservation for me online. I guess the Arabic version of the website was working while the English site wasn't. He used my phone number and told me I should be getting a text from them with the reservation number soon. All I would have to do then was get to the train station to pay for my ticket, or go to an ATM or pay online before Saturday at 8pm. My phone is a Nokia, the old school invincible kind that can be dropped two stories and into the toilet keep on going (I know, I've done it). The only problem is the charging port doesn't work anymore so to charge the phone, I have to remove the battery and charge the battery separately. It just so happened that when he made the reservation, my phone was on charge. I didn't think it would matter, but apparently it did because I never received a reservation number by text to confirm.
The following day, I met up with another of Fozia's friends for lunch, since he was leaving for Jordan for a quick vacation. I asked him if we could swing by the train station so I could confirm and pay for my reservation. I figured I could go in and give them my phone number or passport number and they could retrieve the reservation. My friend wasn't so sure. He felt thought it would be better if he went in for me because he didn't think they would speak English, and as we are not related, we should not go in together. So I waited in the car while he went in to try to sort it out. I tried to give him money to pay for it, but he just told me to keep the money and wait until he came out, then I could pay him. After some time he came out to get my passport copy and said they didn't find the reservation and he would make a new one. I asked him to try to get third class but if there were no seats left second would be ok. He looked at me like I was crazy and told me I should take first class, or at the very least second class. He said that third class was with all the smelly people. I told him I planned on sleeping the whole way, so it didn't matter to me and wasn't worth the extra 80 riyals. He looked doubtful. Again I tried to give him the money but he told me to wait. Finally he came out and gave me my reservation paperwork. I asked if it was paid for and he said, no he just made the reservation. I told him I thought the reservation would expire if I didn't pay at least 12 hours before the train left. He told me he didn't think so and anyway there would be plenty of seats, it wouldn't be full the day of. I was doubtful since I had looked at seats on the train the previous week and they had been sold out. I told him it would be better if I just ran in and paid myself. He said that would be suspicious since he had just gone in for me. I didn't push it since he had already done me the favor of making the reservation and because I figured I could just ask someone to go to the ATM and pay for me (I couldn't do it myself because we can't get bank accounts without an iqama) and I would pay them back.
Finally, it was Saturday. The day I had to give back Snoop, the kitty and my last chance to pay for the ticket. So I asked Snoops owner to use his online account to pay for the ticket for me and I would give him cash. He was happy to do it, and when he pulled up the reservation number, it was clear that my friend had booked me for a first class ticket instead of 3rd or 2nd class. I know he thought he was doing me a favor, and didn't want to see me stuck in with all the smellies... But you know, he was not the one paying for it... best intentions. So I offered Snoops owner the 150sar in cash, and thought perhaps I could ask at the station in the morning to have the ticket changed. He refused to take the money, insisting I might need the cash in Riyadh, and that I could pay him when I got back. I told him I would be more than ok with cash and that he should take it. He refused. We played the game of shoving money back and forth insistently for a while, and finally I gave up. I think he wanted it as an excuse to see me again, and I was happy to have it as an excuse to see Snoop again. So, I was relieved. The ticket was bought and paid for, now all I needed was a ride to the train station. Luckily, another of Fozia's friends came through and said he would take me to the train station at 4 in the morning. He told me he always stayed up that late anyway. I was surprised, but grateful. Thank goodness for all of Fozia's friends. So I packed my bags, set my alarm for 3am and went to bed (sort of) early, praying that Bobshi wouldn't decide to fall asleep early...
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
A Walk in the Park
After much discussion about the elusive park that is supposedly somewhere close to our building, five of us girls decided that we would finally go find it. We planned all week to have a picnic there on Wednesday - the day we have no shopping trips so that we would have something to do other than stare at the walls in our apartments.
The plan was to meet downstairs in the lobby of our apartment building at 4:30 and head out together. I knew I had a Skype interview at 4pm, so I wasn't sure I would be able to go. Luckily, the call ended at about 4:40, so I decided to grab my abaya and the watermelon that had been in my fridge all week and head down, just in case they hadn't left yet. At the bottom of the stairs, only Gemma was there waiting. She said one of the others had come down, but had to go back up for something, and we were still waiting for the others. We chatted for a while, and then Sophia came down, and I was admiring her sunglasses when I remembered that I had forgotten to bring my own. Since we were still waiting for two more, I figured we still had time, so I ran upstairs to grab my sunglasses, leaving my watermelon and phone on the couch. I must have been about two floors up when my phone started ringing. Gemma, was quick enough to answer it and then ran the phone up to me. I was glad she did as it was the interviewer calling back to answer a few more questions. I did my best to answer them while looking for my sunglasses and making my way back downstairs so the girls wouldn't have to wait on me.
I needn't have rushed. We were still waiting on some of the girls, and it just so happened that one of the downstairs rooms closest to the reception area was open, so we decided to explore it. It was nearly the same as every other apartment, except that in the back corner of the living room was a spiral staircase connecting it to the apartment above it on the second floor. Gemma and I couldn't help it, we decided to explore it. We went up the stairs, which shook a lot as we went and made me slightly nervous. Not as nervous as I was when I finally reached the upper apartment and found absolutely no railing at the top of the stairs. The floor simply ended with a square hole cut out in the corner. One edge had a step down for the stairs, but the adjacent side was just a straight cliff drop down into the apartment below. These "Double-Decker" apartments were reserved for teachers with families. I was cringing while I imagined a baby crawling across the living room to the edge of doom.... Gemma and I decided to leave quickly before either of us had the chance to accidentally fall into the hole ourselves.
While we were exploring one of the girls realized she hadn't said her prayers yet, so she went to the bedroom to pray quickly before we left. She went to the bathroom to wash first, but because the apartment hadn't been used in a while, the water ran brown for about 2 minutes before it cleared up. The water reminded Gemma and I that we had forgotten to bring water bottles, and as it was probably around 104 degrees and we weren't sure how far away the park was, we figured we would definitely need some water. So we ran up to our rooms to get water bottles while the other girl finished her prayers. When we got back down, my headscarf had come undone and Sophia was busy fixing it for me. I used to wear a thick black shall that was made of material that kind of stuck to itself so I never needed pins to hold up my hijab before. But recently I had been gifted a scarf that was made of much thinner, but also slipperier material, so it kept falling down more easily. Sophia was trying to show me how I could tie it and when she was finally done, the final girl arrived, and at last, we were all in the same place at the same time, and ready to leave. At least, we were ready to leave until the girl commented on how nice my headscarf looked. She said I should take a picture, and then I remembered that I didn't have my camera! So I ran upstairs to get it.
And when I came back down, only an hour after we had originally agreed to meet, we made our way out the door to head to the park. We didn't get far. At the end of our block is a Herfy's, which is an arabic kind of McDonalds. We all decided that what would really make the walk to the park enjoyable would be some ice cream cones. So we went inside to the family section and ordered some ice cream. We had the option of choosing ice cream with chocolate syrup or strawberry syrup, and apparently the guy taking our order loved chocolate so much that he just couldn't conceive of anyone wanting strawberry. We ordered 2 chocolate and 3 strawberry, and each time he said our order back to us, for confirmation, he got it wrong. "So 5 chocolate ice cream? Oh, so, 4 chocolate? hmm... so, you want only 2 chocolate?.... oh, and strawberry? ... So, 2 chocolate and 2 strawberry. Oh, 3 strawberry? hmmm. I think I have it, 2 chocolate and 3 strawberry? Yes? Are you sure you don't want chocolate?" It was like watching Abbot and Costello played by a single person.
Eventually we got our correct flavors of ice cream and headed out for the park. There aren't sidewalks to speak of, so we decided our best bet was to walk along the median in the center of the road. It was only wide enough for one person so we fell in line single file. Five black shapes marching away down the road. We got a lot of honks and stares, and several cars passed us on one side, and then a few minutes later were passing us on the other side of the road. They sure have interesting ways of getting places if they have to keep flipping U-turns. My ice-cream only lasted about half way to the park, so the last half of the trip felt longer and hotter than the first. But I persevered.
Finally we arrived at the small oasis of green surrounded by several apartment buildings. There were two small playgrounds and one family had even brought a mini trampoline for the kids and enough jars of peanut butter to feed a small army. It made sense when you started counting the number of kids that appeared to belong to the 5 women sitting around the trampoline. We chose a spot with some bunches under a canopy, even though the shade wasn't really necessary any more since the sun went down just as we arrived. We sat down and busted out our treats... cucumber sandwiches, deviled eggs, mango tang, and my watermelon.
Everything was delicious, except the watermelon, which I thought tasted a little worse for the wear, having been in the fridge all week. It didn't taste like it had gone bad exactly, it just wasn't quite right. The other girls noticed it too, but they seemed to like it. "Wow, this almost has a minty flavor.. Did you add mint to it?" I shook my head and added sheepishly, "You don't have to eat it, it might have gone bad..." but the other girls said, "No, no, it's good! I think you may have hit on a really good idea!" "Yeah, we could have watermelon mint smoothies!" That did actually sound like a great idea, only the closest my watermelon had ever been to mint was sitting a shelf under some mint-like local plant in the refrigerator. Perhaps it soaked in the flavor? I don't know.... I still think the watermelon was probably bad, but I guess if they liked it, and no one got sick, it's a win win.
After eating, we made the most of my trip back for the camera and took a lot of "selfies" with the self timer. Its amazing how much fun it can be to act ridiculous in front of a camera. Its a good thing too, because thats pretty much the only kind of fun your allowed to have in the park. There is a huge sign near the middle of the park with a list of things that aren't allowed. I think if I were to design a t-shirt that explained what it was like to live in Saudi Arabia, it would just be a series of icons for fun things with big red lines through them.
When it got too dark for pictures, we decided to head back. We thought we would try a back road which probably went straight through to our apartment and would be a shortcut... we thought. I don't think we will ever try it again. The road ended up being a maze of back alleys, which somehow led us further out than we wanted to go, and in the meantime, we were being followed by a creepy guy in a pick up truck who would drive by and look us up and down.... I've never felt that exposed while being covered from head to toe. He would slowly drive past, then speed off only to come back for a second and third pass every few minutes. Meanwhile we were making our way through construction zones and attempting to avoid puddles of sewage in the middle of the street. Luckily, our having gotten lost must have also confused our stalker, who couldn't find us either. Eventually, we found our way home, having gone at least 3 blocks out of the way. Even though it was dark by now, it was still over 100 degrees outside, and I had to ring out my t-shirt when I finally got back to my apartment.
It was worth it though... and we all agreed we should make it a regular Wednesday outing, minus the getting lost bit. I secretly decided to nix the over ripe watermelon too.
The plan was to meet downstairs in the lobby of our apartment building at 4:30 and head out together. I knew I had a Skype interview at 4pm, so I wasn't sure I would be able to go. Luckily, the call ended at about 4:40, so I decided to grab my abaya and the watermelon that had been in my fridge all week and head down, just in case they hadn't left yet. At the bottom of the stairs, only Gemma was there waiting. She said one of the others had come down, but had to go back up for something, and we were still waiting for the others. We chatted for a while, and then Sophia came down, and I was admiring her sunglasses when I remembered that I had forgotten to bring my own. Since we were still waiting for two more, I figured we still had time, so I ran upstairs to grab my sunglasses, leaving my watermelon and phone on the couch. I must have been about two floors up when my phone started ringing. Gemma, was quick enough to answer it and then ran the phone up to me. I was glad she did as it was the interviewer calling back to answer a few more questions. I did my best to answer them while looking for my sunglasses and making my way back downstairs so the girls wouldn't have to wait on me.
I needn't have rushed. We were still waiting on some of the girls, and it just so happened that one of the downstairs rooms closest to the reception area was open, so we decided to explore it. It was nearly the same as every other apartment, except that in the back corner of the living room was a spiral staircase connecting it to the apartment above it on the second floor. Gemma and I couldn't help it, we decided to explore it. We went up the stairs, which shook a lot as we went and made me slightly nervous. Not as nervous as I was when I finally reached the upper apartment and found absolutely no railing at the top of the stairs. The floor simply ended with a square hole cut out in the corner. One edge had a step down for the stairs, but the adjacent side was just a straight cliff drop down into the apartment below. These "Double-Decker" apartments were reserved for teachers with families. I was cringing while I imagined a baby crawling across the living room to the edge of doom.... Gemma and I decided to leave quickly before either of us had the chance to accidentally fall into the hole ourselves.
While we were exploring one of the girls realized she hadn't said her prayers yet, so she went to the bedroom to pray quickly before we left. She went to the bathroom to wash first, but because the apartment hadn't been used in a while, the water ran brown for about 2 minutes before it cleared up. The water reminded Gemma and I that we had forgotten to bring water bottles, and as it was probably around 104 degrees and we weren't sure how far away the park was, we figured we would definitely need some water. So we ran up to our rooms to get water bottles while the other girl finished her prayers. When we got back down, my headscarf had come undone and Sophia was busy fixing it for me. I used to wear a thick black shall that was made of material that kind of stuck to itself so I never needed pins to hold up my hijab before. But recently I had been gifted a scarf that was made of much thinner, but also slipperier material, so it kept falling down more easily. Sophia was trying to show me how I could tie it and when she was finally done, the final girl arrived, and at last, we were all in the same place at the same time, and ready to leave. At least, we were ready to leave until the girl commented on how nice my headscarf looked. She said I should take a picture, and then I remembered that I didn't have my camera! So I ran upstairs to get it.
And when I came back down, only an hour after we had originally agreed to meet, we made our way out the door to head to the park. We didn't get far. At the end of our block is a Herfy's, which is an arabic kind of McDonalds. We all decided that what would really make the walk to the park enjoyable would be some ice cream cones. So we went inside to the family section and ordered some ice cream. We had the option of choosing ice cream with chocolate syrup or strawberry syrup, and apparently the guy taking our order loved chocolate so much that he just couldn't conceive of anyone wanting strawberry. We ordered 2 chocolate and 3 strawberry, and each time he said our order back to us, for confirmation, he got it wrong. "So 5 chocolate ice cream? Oh, so, 4 chocolate? hmm... so, you want only 2 chocolate?.... oh, and strawberry? ... So, 2 chocolate and 2 strawberry. Oh, 3 strawberry? hmmm. I think I have it, 2 chocolate and 3 strawberry? Yes? Are you sure you don't want chocolate?" It was like watching Abbot and Costello played by a single person.
Eventually we got our correct flavors of ice cream and headed out for the park. There aren't sidewalks to speak of, so we decided our best bet was to walk along the median in the center of the road. It was only wide enough for one person so we fell in line single file. Five black shapes marching away down the road. We got a lot of honks and stares, and several cars passed us on one side, and then a few minutes later were passing us on the other side of the road. They sure have interesting ways of getting places if they have to keep flipping U-turns. My ice-cream only lasted about half way to the park, so the last half of the trip felt longer and hotter than the first. But I persevered.
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| The Park at Sunset |
Everything was delicious, except the watermelon, which I thought tasted a little worse for the wear, having been in the fridge all week. It didn't taste like it had gone bad exactly, it just wasn't quite right. The other girls noticed it too, but they seemed to like it. "Wow, this almost has a minty flavor.. Did you add mint to it?" I shook my head and added sheepishly, "You don't have to eat it, it might have gone bad..." but the other girls said, "No, no, it's good! I think you may have hit on a really good idea!" "Yeah, we could have watermelon mint smoothies!" That did actually sound like a great idea, only the closest my watermelon had ever been to mint was sitting a shelf under some mint-like local plant in the refrigerator. Perhaps it soaked in the flavor? I don't know.... I still think the watermelon was probably bad, but I guess if they liked it, and no one got sick, it's a win win.
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| Vogue Saudi Style |
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| Never too old to be a kid again.... |
After eating, we made the most of my trip back for the camera and took a lot of "selfies" with the self timer. Its amazing how much fun it can be to act ridiculous in front of a camera. Its a good thing too, because thats pretty much the only kind of fun your allowed to have in the park. There is a huge sign near the middle of the park with a list of things that aren't allowed. I think if I were to design a t-shirt that explained what it was like to live in Saudi Arabia, it would just be a series of icons for fun things with big red lines through them.
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| Everything fun is forbidden |
It was worth it though... and we all agreed we should make it a regular Wednesday outing, minus the getting lost bit. I secretly decided to nix the over ripe watermelon too.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
I Quit!
After my trip to the embassy, I consulted more people about the process of switching jobs. I spoke to other teachers who knew people who had been through it before, I spoke with people who worked in the government affairs offices of other companies, I spoke with people who had transferred from other companies, I spoke with everyone I knew who might have any idea at all about how the process would work. I have never gotten so much conflicting advice in my life. Some said ask for a transfer, some said, don't do that or they would put me on a blacklist and prevent me coming to Saudi. Some said I should resign as soon as possible, others said I should wait for the iqama. Everyone said something different. The frustrating thing was, the people who had the answers I needed, my old company, were, as usual, not responding to emails texts or phone calls. I had been hesitent to submit my resignation because the new company wanted me to start Aug. 31st and I wasn't confident I could get out of the 30 days notice period in time to start, and if not, I wouldn't be able to start with the new company until December. After talking with the new company, I decided it would be better to take leave without pay for the part of the 30 days I would miss than to carry on another 3 months with my old company. So, I finally submitted my resignation to my former company.
Based on the advice of a majority who said that I shouldn't mention my other position, I decided not to mention my new job offer. But I had no trouble coming up with the following very valid reasons for resigning:
Interestingly, the very next day after submitting my resignation, Osama (the manager in the Riyadh office) called me to tell me he was 90% sure my iqama would arrive on Sunday. What a mighty convinient coincidence. I told him I would be happy to go to Riyadh and collect my passport and iqama on Sunday, and to please have them ready for me. He told me there was no need to come, and that they could send me my iqama via courier. Just give us till Sunday, he said. If the iqama arrives, you will not need to resign. I didn't say anthing. I just told him that I would come anyway, just to be sure. They clearly didn't want me to come to the office. But every teacher I spoke to told me nothing would ever get done if I didn't go in person, and that if I wanted to get anything resolved then I needed to just go in person so that I couldn't be ignored. So I insisted it would be better for me to go in person, and I told him I would see him on Sunday.
In the meantime, I got an email from another person in the company who told me that my resignation via email would not count, and that I would need to submit the resignation in writing with the signature of my program manager on it. My program manager has been on vacation since the start of August and would't return until August 31st. I told them I would deliver it in person while I was getting my passport on Sunday and that way someone higher than my program manager could sign it in his place. He said an in person resignation would be acceptable since my program manager was on vacation. I decided this could work to my advantage, and dated my resignation letter back to Aug. 10th and left it on the desk of my program manager, and made a copy to take with me to Riyadh. The backdate plus my accumulated vacation days would make my last day Sept. 4th. I wasn't sure if they would recognize that as the official end date or not, but I figured it was worth a shot. Either way, I would find out myself on Sunday.
Based on the advice of a majority who said that I shouldn't mention my other position, I decided not to mention my new job offer. But I had no trouble coming up with the following very valid reasons for resigning:
- The company changed the contract from ending Aug. 31 2014 to Aug. 31 2015 without my prior knowledge or consent before arriving in the country.
- The company did not provide adaquate or safe housing.
- The company has not issued me an iqama and has allowed my visa to expire making my presence in the kingdom illegal.
- The company has still not reimbursed me for visa and medical expenses as agreed in the contract. -
Interestingly, the very next day after submitting my resignation, Osama (the manager in the Riyadh office) called me to tell me he was 90% sure my iqama would arrive on Sunday. What a mighty convinient coincidence. I told him I would be happy to go to Riyadh and collect my passport and iqama on Sunday, and to please have them ready for me. He told me there was no need to come, and that they could send me my iqama via courier. Just give us till Sunday, he said. If the iqama arrives, you will not need to resign. I didn't say anthing. I just told him that I would come anyway, just to be sure. They clearly didn't want me to come to the office. But every teacher I spoke to told me nothing would ever get done if I didn't go in person, and that if I wanted to get anything resolved then I needed to just go in person so that I couldn't be ignored. So I insisted it would be better for me to go in person, and I told him I would see him on Sunday.
In the meantime, I got an email from another person in the company who told me that my resignation via email would not count, and that I would need to submit the resignation in writing with the signature of my program manager on it. My program manager has been on vacation since the start of August and would't return until August 31st. I told them I would deliver it in person while I was getting my passport on Sunday and that way someone higher than my program manager could sign it in his place. He said an in person resignation would be acceptable since my program manager was on vacation. I decided this could work to my advantage, and dated my resignation letter back to Aug. 10th and left it on the desk of my program manager, and made a copy to take with me to Riyadh. The backdate plus my accumulated vacation days would make my last day Sept. 4th. I wasn't sure if they would recognize that as the official end date or not, but I figured it was worth a shot. Either way, I would find out myself on Sunday.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
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....
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....
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