Air Travel

 I hear people complaining about air travel recently – and probably with good reason – but I often find it hard to relate. Traveling in the United States and traveling outside of it are two entirely different animals. Standards for safety I have encountered abroad range from that time I was felt up so thoroughly by a security guard at Ferenc Liszt airport in Budapest I felt like she owed me dinner, to that time in Egypt, where, despite the prevalence of x-rays and metal detectors, they legitimately don't give a crap.

I can't count how many TSA violations I have gotten away with in my short life. Pretty much anywhere besides America will let you bring a bottle of water on the plane (this has happened to me in Egypt, the Kingdom, even Hungary) and a couple times I have forgotten something like a razor in my backpack and not gotten it confiscated.

Compare this to the one time my mother and I were traveling to Peru and they looked through her entire carry on for about twenty minutes until they found a nail file. Which they confiscated. Or the time, in Japan, everything was removed from my bag and x-rayed separately  I spent a long time standing awkwardly while they went through my things, feeling like I should be explaining why I'm bringing a bag of cheetos into the country (they were for a friend!)

In the Kingdom, there is separate security for women and for men. The men go through the metal detector like normal, and the women are diverted into this little hut off to the side. Inside, you have to pull aside not one, but two sets of heavy, light-blocking curtains to reach the inner sanctum.There, bored female guards will half-heartedly wand you over in case you are keeping a switchblade in your knickers. Incidentally, if I was keeping a switchblade in my knickers, they probably wouldn't have found it.

I have walked in several times to find the guards either cheerfully chatting with each other, sitting back and relaxing, having lunch, or, most recently, listening to their ipods (HARAM!)

No one can come and check on them because their bosses are all male. These ladies have figured out a pretty sweet racket.

These airports also have x-ray machines as you come in the door (not that they ever stop anybody from bringing in anything) and “family sections” which is where it's okay for women to be. There are also “single” sections which are for single men. To be fair, men are only allowed in the 'family' section if they are actually with their families.

As a lone female traveler, or really as a female in the Kingdom in general, I have to be careful where I sit, even in the 'family' section. Sitting by myself is always an option, though not as good as sitting relatively near other women. It should go without saying that sitting next to a man is not even an option.

On the plane, before take off, they recite a prayer that the Prophet Muhammad used to say before he traveled. There is, of course, no alcohol on any Kingdom Airline flights.

This in-depth description is in honor of my vacation I am taking for the rest of the month of October. I worked a grueling five days this month and I deserve a vacation!

I'm starting to feel like I take vacations professionally. Paid vacations.

All sarcasm aside, the last week has been hell on earth. Sometime since I left everyone has decided to start hating each other. When I arrived back, I was immediately treated to a dozen side conversations about one person or another. I felt bad even listening to people tear into each other but I hadn't been there so I had no idea if it was justified or not.

Tempers flared the other day on the bus and there was snarling all the way home. It was so vicious that my mp3 player couldn't drown it out and I had to distract myself by trying to learn the Arabic numbers using licence plates.

I know them perfectly now, in case you were wondering.

I got my own dose of annoyance when the job of editing and producing the bi-weekly newsletter fell entirely to me. Typically, we have a team to work on it, but they were all too busy this week.

I didn't mind at first and I was kind of looking forward to it. It may have even been out on time if anyone had sent me anything they were supposed to. On Wednesday COB (the newsletter should have been out already) I was still missing the main article that my supervisor said she would send me at 9 am. Plus, I designed all the banners and titles myself in illustrator and my supervisor takes one look at them and crinkles her nose, asks me if we can do something about the ugly colors.

After a week of this crap I was done and so glad someone had talked me into leaving for the vacation instead of staying in town and... I don't know, screaming at the ceiling?  

The Squeaky Wheel

            I think the motto of this month has got to be 'the squeaky wheel gets the grease'. That's the only way things get done here.

            I got a taste of that before I even got here when I was hired by the recruitment agency (which is different than the teaching agency and the University) and then I never heard from them again.

            This was why I didn't update the blog for a while, it was because I was just so frustrated, I didn't even want to write about.

            Basically, I waited about a month before I started getting fed up; I emailed everyone whose email I had, and still no response. I knew it was Ramadan, but the least that professional courtesy demands is a simple email saying something along the lines of 'It's Ramadan, get back to you in a month'. But no. Silence.

            Finally, a day after I was supposed to be there, I contacted the American who I had talked to and who also worked as a teacher for the same school. She gave me other emails to try. I finally got a response from them. But it still took another two weeks of constant emailing and telephone calls to get my plane ticket to the Kingdom. Which didn't have my name on it.

            You can read about all the snafus that went on when I got here in my other posts, but the number of things I didn't get that I was supposed to – that I had to complain for – is astounding. My desk, a class, books for class (which I still haven't received) – the list goes on.

            We've been having an issue with the buses that take us to and from school – they're too small. We have 56 teachers, and only 52 seats on the bus. This is a clear, mathematical problem. But it's been going on for some time now and the ladies in my accommodation (we'll call it Magda) banded together to put a stop to it.

            We called the CEO of the company and complained – basically every day. But every day, two to four people were being left behind because there weren't enough seats. Fortunately, the teachers who have been here for a long time have been volunteering to take a cab so that the new teachers don't have to navigate home on their own.

            The end of the story is that the CEO got us two buses. Probably just to make us stop calling him. One time he was at the hospital because his African Grey was sick - we just had no mercy. I mean, I feel for him, but we need to get home safely.

My Precarious Position as a Cover Teacher

            The door to my office, which I share with several other teachers, says 'no students allowed'. I always pause there and I'm like, oh yeah, I'm not in college anymore. It's a weird feeling to be teaching at a University when those years are not that far behind me. Or not teaching, as the case may be.

            My typical day goes like this:

            I get up at about 4:30 am because the bus leaves at about 6:15 and I'm paranoid about being late/missing something. I have to make sure I've got everything I need for the whole day (breakfast, lunch), because the bus arrives back at my 'hotel' at around 5pm. I spend about 11 hours at work. Soon I will have to get on the bus at 5:50 am because I'm supposed to be on the morning shift.

            We spend anywhere from an hour and a half to two hours on a cramped bus, basically waiting in traffic, to get to work.

            When we finally arrive, I sit at my desk. And wait.

            I don't do anything else. Because there are too many teachers, not everyone has classes. We are permanently on cover duty – or “substitute teaching” as we Americans say. This is fine except that people are not often absent. At least not to the point that they require me to teach.

            I've been working here a week and a half and I've only taught one class. I haven't even seen inside any of the course books. I am so very useless.

            There is a rumor circulating that they have over-hired (which is obvious to anyone with general skills of observation) and they are making up a list if people who they will fire (which is obvious to anyone with general skills of deduction). I am, unfortunately, not that secure in my job because, though I was told I only needed one year of teaching experience, since I have arrived, people have made it clear that I actually need two. I have about one and a half years English teaching experience, and two and a half general teaching experience. This may or may not be a problem for me. It’s too soon to tell.

            Either way, it's a great source of anxiety. I'm avoiding doing anything too permanent because I'm pretty much convinced I'll be deported at any second.

            And to think, I could have been at IH Moscow right now.

            Some people are jumping ship, some people (like me) are trying to be useful while just nervously fretting about their jobs. No one is entirely happy.

            So what do I fill my days up with? Well, I chat in the resource room with some of the other teachers, who are a lot of fun. I go for two hour coffee breaks and three hour lunches. We go for walks in the sunshine to get our daily dose of Vitamin D (contrary to popular belief, I am not getting a tan here, because I am always covered. Lack of sun is becoming a real problem). And we plan parties on the roof of our building or shopping trips to a nearby mall. But most of the time, I just sit at my desk and write.

            Even if I did have a class, that would be for about three hours a day. The other five hours would be devoted to sitting. But I would at least have something to work on instead of hoping no one is looking over my shoulder and reading my blog.

            At the end of the day, I get on the bus (4pm sharp or they will drive away without me) and take the one and a half hour drive home.

            When I get back to my apartment, I usually hook my computer up and watch something, or paint, or read, or cook dinner, etc. During the day I am all talked out so I don't really seek the company of my neighbors. But sometimes they come and get me and socializing is unavoidable. In fact, for most of the time I've been here, I've been over at someone's house or another to eat/talk/drink tea.

            My apartment, when I got there, was pretty bare. I had four tables in the living room but nowhere to sit. I thought this was a Kingdom thing and was prepared to accept it. But then the residence coordinator came in and shouted 'Where is all your furniture?!' after which, there was a sofa brought to my room.

            Yesterday, I got a microwave, and there are rumors of them building a gym in one of the empty rooms. Dare I believe we will one day have a washer?

            The other day, I was electrocuted by my own stove top. I had a pot on one of the burners and when I went to take it off, I got a shock. Thinking it was just rather strong static electricity, I touched it again and it was like those joke pens people make you use that give you an electric shock when you try and click it. I turned the stove off and called the doorman (his job has many descriptions) who suggested, quite seriously, that I invest in some rubber shoes.

            EDIT: Since I wrote this, I have been given a class and I definitely feel more secure in my job. This was written in a very dark period. Things are better now! Apparently, there is a list of people to be sent home, but I'm not on it. I am not, in fact, the most unqualified person here for a change. More positive posts to come.