The Reasons Why

In case you haven't heard the news, I've officially resigned my position here. 

There are a lot of reasons and all of them are personal. It took me a long time to accept the fact that personal/emotional reasons were enough to leave a good job behind.

Reason One, "The Most Important One": 

My mood is so unstable here that it's not good for my emotional health. When I first decided to leave, I was wracked with indecision because one day I was ready to hop on a plane, and the next day, I thought it wouldn't be so bad to stay here a year. The changes were so severe and so unpredictable that I felt like I couldn't plan anything in advance because who knows how I would feel when the actual date rolled around?

Reason Two, "The Official Reason":

 

My Visa. Or lack thereof. When I came here, I was told that I wouldn't be getting a resident's visa or Iqama as it's known in the Arab world. I was fine with that. Iqamas took four weeks to get, you had to go back to your home country to get them, and your employer has the right to keep your passport. I've learned too much about human trafficking to be comfortable with someone taking my passport for safe keeping. 

The visa I came on was a three month, multiple-entry visa that would expire into a single entry visa after three months. Meaning that I could come and go as I pleased the first three months, but after that, if I left, I couldn't get back in. I was told that in January, I could go home and renew this visa in order to travel for another three months in the area. 

The laws of the country have been changing – in the last couple of months, actually – and these visas are no longer available.

I had just bought my plane ticket to go home (after informing my employers this was my intention and receiving positive acknowledgement in return) when I received an email that stated there were no visas, that no one would be able to leave during the school break. I was understandably pissed off. But I didn't cancel my plane flight.

For several days, I sat and stewed. Finally, the CEO came to face us and tell us that, he has Iqamas available, but he wasn't going to give them to us. He said he needed them to bring new teachers in that would replace the teachers who already left. We asked him why he didn't try harder to keep the teachers he already has (i.e.: give us the visas) and he simply shrugged his shoulders. At which point I told him, very calmly, my position: I have paid for a plane flight in January. I will be on that plane, out of the country. If you want me back, then you can get me an Iqama.

I don't think they are going to offer me one, but they may. In which case I would seriously consider coming back.

Reason Three, "The Obvious":

 

Not being able to leave the house by myself is taking a serious toll on my sanity. Left to my own devices, I like to take long walks by myself to just think. In the Kingdom, I have to walk in circles on my roof inside the high walls like a prisoner. All I see every day is the four walls of my apartment, the four walls at the university, and the things I can glance out the tinted windows as we drive to work.

Reason Four, "The Company":

The way the company treats us has been intolerable from the start. Things like telling us to be ready to go shopping at 6:00am, and then phoning us up three hours later to tell us the trip has been canceled. No other explanation. Like it doesn't matter that we've gotten up ridiculously early and been waiting for three hours. This is only one example of many that include safety issues both in transit (they stranded my friend in the middle of the night on the side of the road without explanation), and at home (our accommodation has only one doorman, who is a string bean of a man, and glass doors). Also a problem is their habit of not paying us so that we can access our money in a timely manner, and not allowing the proper amount of sick days (we have been told, several times, that if we are sick, we should just suck it up and go to work).

Reason Five, "My Goals":

 

I had certain goals when I came here. They were, in order of priority – be creative, write, learn Arabic, travel to the nearby countries, explore Kingdom Culture, get university experience, and make money.  Being creative and writing is almost impossible when I never see anything new in my life. I was promised free Arabic lessons which have never materialized. I've honestly learned more Urdu than I have Arabic working here. I would do better with Rosetta Stone. Obviously, the visa situation makes travel impossible and I've been out and about in Kingdom Culture for about four months now.  The experience is great, but now I have a semester, so that goal is more or less accomplished. That leaves making money, and doing this only for money is something I suspect I will regret in the future. 

Therefore, I have nothing left to gain by being here.

            UPDATE: They have offered me an Iqama when it seemed that I was serious about going home. I had a couple hours of indecision about why I was really leaving and would my problems really be fixed with an Iqama. I finally decided that getting the visa didn't really make a difference. I am leaving anyway.

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.

Ishallah

Culture in the Kingdom is very interesting indeed.

First, there is their whole philosophy on life, which can be summed up with their favorite phrase: Inshallah, or 'If Allah wills it/Allah willing'.

I'm taking the scenic route to this explanation so bear with me guys. Back in the day, when all other civilizations were picking up on this fad “agriculture”, the people who lived in what is now the Kingdom didn't want and couldn't use it. They were nomadic herders and liked their life. Plus, agriculture was more or less unfeasible in the middle of the desert.

While the rest of the world developed not only farming, but what inevitably comes with it – what we call the 'Protestant Work Ethic' (PWE) – the people of the Kingdom supported themselves with the fruits of their flock. This did not require them to toil in the fields all day but to sit around and talk while keeping one eye on their herd.

This has produced two lasting effects on the people of the Kingdom. The first is that they love to talk. Most of the girls we see in this program, are very fluent when speaking. However, since Arabic is a phonetic language and there is more of an emphasis on speaking in this culture than most, many of the girls cannot spell to save their lives. Reading and writing for these girls is a big chore. On the other hand, they will talk your ear off.

Not only that, but because greetings are so important in this culture, they will often take a circular approach to conversation. Greetings come first and are of the utmost importance. Then there are the inquiries about family, because that is very important as well. Then, after these discussion topics have been exhausted they may get to the point. Or they may talk some more. Toss up, really.

The other thing these pastoral beginnings have done is instilled in the people of the Kingdom with what we of the PWE might ignorantly call laziness. Let me be clear – they are not lazy. It's more of this Inshallah attitude.

Since, in the past, Allah has always taken care of them and their flock, they have no reason to suppose that it will not continue into the future. In some ways, working for a better future may be considered against Allah, because He has a plan and He is going to take care of it. If your endeavor fails, well, then it was never meant to be. If you succeed, it was because Allah deemed it so. There is nothing you can do to influence it either way, so why try? Why try to thwart the will of Allah?

Can't get to the meeting on time because your alarm clock didn't go off? Well, that was Allah's will. The unwashed fruit from the market gave you food poisoning? Clearly Allah wanted this suffering for you.

The Kingdom's Allah is quite the micro-manager

This Inshallah philosophy has really changed the face of the Kingdom over the years. It's the reason most often given to why the wealthy of the country build palaces instead of infrastructure. If Allah wanted a road to be there, well, there would be one.

Because of the heavy tradition of slavery here, the people of the Kingdom do not find it weird or unusual that almost the entire workforce is imported from abroad. 50 percent of the population of the Kingdom is foreign. 50 per. cent. Can you imagine? This includes positions like janitors and customer service representatives, as well as doctors and teachers. This is the case despite the astounding 20% unemployment amount Kingdomites.

In fact, there has been a movement in government to get more native Kingdomites to work in the jobs that are typically filled with foreigners. Much legislation has been passed on how Kingdomites are treated in the workplace and how much of a company's workforce must be made up of the native population.

But most jobs are considered either too demeaning or too technical for the Kingdomites, who largely graduate with degrees in Islamic Philosophy. Many Kingdomites are used to being served and therefore do not do well in service positions. Still, most companies are giving the laws due diligence. This has created people who make a career out of being trainees. They are hired to replace a foreign worker with the expectation that one day, Inshallah, they will learn the job. Their teachers have no initiative to teach their job away, and the Kingdomites don't really want to work anyway (Inshallah, remember?). So, they get paid to go to training programs, and to be trained while they never expect to actually take over the job.

Many companies are filling this quota by hiring Kingdomites and not requiring them to show up to work. Taking the loss of their salaries as the cost of doing business in the Kingdom.

These problems are compounded by the fact that it's illegal to fire a Kingdomite after they have been hired. So, no one feels the need to be actually good at their job. Since the entire government is made up of Kingdomites – many of them of royal blood – things in the bureaucracy can move at glacial speeds.

Work culture here seems to be as haphazard for everyone. As I described in my last post, the disorganization and circular attitude at the University is very in tune with this culture, and seen through this lens it seems almost logical.

I will get used to it eventually, Inshallah.

Zen and the Art of Traveling

            I was drastically unprepared for my flight yesterday. Usually I have all the stuff I will need for the actual flight – toothbrush, books, eye mask, sleeping pills, mp3 player, etc. - in my purse while the rest of the stuff I'm carrying on – like a change of clothes, etc – is in the overhead bin.

            But for this flight, I had about 24 hours notice, and for most of those 24 hours, I was freaking out about the fact that my real name was not on the ticket . When I called the travel agent his response was – I kid you not - “but, does it really matter?” And this wasn't even the travel agent who bought the ticket in the first place, that guy was on the Umrah, or pilgrimage to Mecca. All I could think when I found that out was 'really? This weekend?'

            After hysterically emailing everyone and their mother in the Kingdom, I finally got an email saying they changed the name. I felt like this email was also saying 'would you chill?'

            On the plane I got my first taste of what being in the Kingdom would be like when the movies on the plane were weirdly censored. This includes blurring out necklines, and omitting a vast array of words such as 'pig', 'kiss', and 'tiller' as in, 'firm hand on the tiller'. No, I don't know why either. Also cut out were scenes where male and female characters were touching. This made even the most obvious plot line a little bit avant garde.

            I wasn't as stressed about this flight as I have been about others. There was a time when an overnight flight would cause me untold amounts of anxiety because I can't sleep on planes. It came to a point, in Turkey, where I made myself so sick I actually threw up because I hadn't slept and I was so anxious.

            Eventually, I realized that the anxiety was making it worse and that not sleeping wasn't the end of the world. So, this time around I had this kind of calm going on and I actually did manage to catch some shut-eye during the flight from D.C. (11 hrs). There was a kind of bliss spill-over when we landed in City1 and had to switch planes for reasons that I'm sure are clear to no one. I was still kind of zen about the whole thing where, in the past, I would be panicking.

            As I looked around, I could easily tell the difference between the people who had traveled a lot and the people who hadn't. The people who had traveled a lot seemed to have this resigned look about them. They knew they would eventually get there and there was no way to speed the process. One pair of travelers very much illustrated two different ways of handling the same problem. As one of them was serenely messing with his smart phone, the other was twitchy and asking a billion questions that no one could possibly have an answer to: 'how long will they make us wait?', 'why did we have to switch planes?', 'where are the other people on the plane? I don't see the other people that were with us!', etc. It was like watching former me badgering future me for information.

            By the time we got to the Capital, I was beyond caring. Even when there was no one there to pick me up (called it) I didn't panic as I usually would. Of course, I panicked a little. It always sucks when you are expecting to be met and no one is there. Usually, I feel like bursting into tears. This time I was a little frazzled because, due to the quick notice of the plane flight, I didn't really have a plan B other than calling people. And they had no payphones at the airport.

            I was about to accost some poor person and ask them to let me use their cell phone, when I saw a guy carrying a sign with the name of the institution I am working for on it. I hadn't seen this when I walked in, and there is a good chance he hadn't been there. He'd been waiting for me for about four hours at that point so I don't really blame him.

            He took me to a place that I first thought was a hotel due to it's opulent lobby. I was kind of annoyed because I was beyond ready to get to my apartment, but as I went up to the third floor, the oddly festive nature of the decorations started to tip me off. There was a whiteboard on one wall with a meaningful 'Who let the dogs out?' penned in the middle. Most telling were the little shiny banners everywhere that, for some reason, said 'Surprise!'

            I got to my apartment and it's pretty nice. The living room is spacious (but has no furniture other than some tables) and the kitchen is at least bigger than the one I had in Seoul. The bathroom smells to high heaven and I can only say that it must be sewer gases coming up from the pipes because it's all clean. I have two wall unit air conditioners which sound like they are going to give out any minute. But so far so good.

            The second I put my stuff down (the literal second) one of my neighbors, who is apparently my supervisor? Invited me over to her place for tea. A quick walk down the hall and I was sipping hibiscus tea with Susan and several other women who live in the building. It was really nice and they were all very sweet. They mostly seem to be British and most of them have just arrived here as well.

            I am currently waiting for my first day of work to start. Waiting being the key word here. More on that later.

The Art of Waiting

I am waiting. 

Just waiting. 

I have been waiting for what seems like the space of time it takes for a spill of primordial ooze to become New York City.

I was born waiting. I will die waiting. And in the meantime, I will become the Matisse of waiting. The Van Gogh of waiting. The Freaking Victor Hugo and Pablo Neruda of waiting.

I will Franz Boas the shit out of waiting. Why do people wait? By waiting, can I delve into the depths of human waiting? I must learn the language of waiting in order to understand it's culture.

And when I am done, if I ever shall be done, I will know the Secret. The one that has troubled minds great and small for millennia. Watch out Lao Tzu! I can Tao your Ching with the silence of an abandoned mine about to be demolished. Rumi, I know you're all into this Love and Be Loved thing but let me tell you, waiting is where it's at. How can I achieve self actualization, Malinoski, if my soul reverberates with something about to happen? You know what, Marx? I don't think I have to tell you anything about waiting you apocalyptic scholar, you, but can I just say? I don't know if you waited long enough.

Like moons and like suns and with the certainty of tides, like hope springing high, still I wait.

I've seen roses demasked, red and white,

but no such roses see I in waiting.

And yet I think my love as rare,

As any belied through false compare.

In case you haven't gathered. I'm still waiting on my plane ticket. I think it's taking an emotional toll.