Life as an “ajnabi” (foreigner) can be difficult anywhere. It is partly up to the individual who lands in alien circumstances to adapt, and partly up to the local society to accept and accommodate the stranger. Living as an “ajnabi” in the Kingdom can be very easy and quite uncomfortable at the same time, depending on a number of things including the nature of one’s job and all that goes with it — the type of people one interacts with, the work culture of the place, and most importantly, the language.
If there is one thing that I regret not having done during my 20 years in the Kingdom, it is that I have not learned to speak Arabic. If I want to pretend to be a cosmopolite, shouldn’t I have learned the language earlier? The lame excuse for not doing so has been that my workplaces did not really demand Arabic, except for asking for tea and water. And these are most often not served by Arabic speakers anyway. With hindsight, knowledge of Arabic would have enriched and enhanced my life in Saudi Arabia. At the least, I would have escaped the “ajnabi” syndrome to some extent.
“Ajnabi” syndrome is when expatriates are — or feel — left out, be it in the office or elsewhere. Whether it is a project in the office, a debate or a discussion, the “ajnabi” rarely gets the whole story unless he has a good command of Arabic.
While the “ajnabi” syndrome seems to be a contradiction in a society that hosts millions of foreigners from a variety of cultures, the type of bonding and belonging that does occasionally happen defies the pundits who pass summary judgment about a closed society that does not trust outsiders. It is tempting to conclude that the “ajnabi” syndrome is a deliberate attempt on the part of perpetrators to keep the alien out of a fiercely self-conscious, at times inward-looking, culture. Perhaps this is true in some instances but it would be foolish to generalize.
Unfortunately, my first “ajnabi” experience occurred the day I landed in Saudi Arabia in 1984. The immigration official confiscated my little pocket diary which had all my contact addresses and phone numbers. We — my colleagues and our first Saudi boss — speculated endlessly on what could have prompted such an action. Needless to say, we never came up with an answer and the mystery remains unsolved until now.
After 20 years of airport experiences, I still dread the return at the end of each journey abroad. No one understands the miserable “cattle” treatment that Subcontinental flights full of human beings receive at the airport, but the workers standing in line seem more amused than offended by officers who appear to whimsically order groups of people to move from one row to another, shouting at the top of their voices, sometimes even pushing and shoving the arrivals.
The experience is much calmer if your family is traveling with you. The family’s position appears to be sacrosanct to Saudi officialdom, particularly at immigration, customs and both city and highway checkpoints.
The divide between Saudi and “ajnabi” is not totally absent at other public places, whether it is the bank or traffic police, though much depends on the individual that you are dealing with. It could be a piece of cake or the nagging and depressing feeling of getting the “foreigner” treatment.
The best “ajnabi” experience was when a police patrol car once noticed me struggling to start the car, and came up and helped me with jump-start cables to get my vehicle running again.
I’ve often wondered about the attitude of Saudi youth toward the “ajnabi”. Random conversations with educated and English-speaking Saudi youth seem to show a positive attitude, respect and appreciation of professional achievements. On the other hand, chance experiences with unknown youth on the roads, in the supermarkets and elsewhere leave one gasping, wanting to scream for a little more humility and understanding.
I can’t possibly count the number of times I wished I were fluent in Arabic and that I was wearing a thobe and aqal. Would that make things any better? Or would the “ajnabi” be accused of masquerading as a Saudi?
My Saudi friends insist that there was a time when the “ajnabi” were genuinely treated as guests. Even today, as an “ajnabi” in Saudi Arabia, I often feel that my Saudi friends and colleagues have that “guest” attitude in the office and with people who are familiar. Out there in the larger context, however, it really is a different story.
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(K. Krishnakumar is a media and communications professional. He is based in Riyadh.)