JEDDAH, 13 December 2007 — Large white boxes emitting a throaty hum on building sites and near the extensive tunnel works of Jeddah; a deaf mute lad who cannot read; a village lad with a basic high school education and a steel caliper on one leg; a 26-year old Saudi cheerfully sweeping a factory floor and a Welsh ex-military engineer with suspiciously good Arabic and the public relations skills of special forces personnel.

There is a connection. In a word, it is “training” — specifically “training” rather than “education.”

In 1850, half of the manufactured goods on the planet were made in Birmingham, which acquired the justifiable cognomen, “the workshop of the world.” While some of the designers and financiers of the British industrial revolution were educated in the academic sense, the overwhelming majority of the people who actually made the products were not. They were however, trained by ordinary people who had no knowledge of industry.

That distinction was very clear to Ron Turner, general manger of Zahid Industries, who, as a 32-year veteran of working for the Zahid Group, could find plenty of educated young Saudis who wanted engineering management positions. What he could not find were any who were willing to get their hands dirty and work as actual engineers and workshop technicians.

He proposed the idea that he try a different method and search for the kind of solid uncomplicated soul that would take to training, much as did the traditional ‘squaddie’ of his army days. He argued that the people from tribal and village areas were used to long hours and tough conditions herding animals and caring for their families.

“These are the people with the grit that we need to work in an environment where it is hot, dirty and dusty while working on metal fabrication,” he contended. After long deliberation, the board gave the go-ahead and Turner set off to look for talent in the villages in the Yanbu area.

“The army can train lads with minimal education to become efficient and reliable workers,” explained Turner — known to his charges as Abu Arab. “The tribal and village lads have all the brains and potential and loads of tenacity; what they did not have was too much education and they had zero training. So I introduced them to a bit of military style training.”

Part of the selection process for certain units in the British military is the ‘sickener.’ Volunteers are pushed to — and often through — their limits. Those that give up, leave. The ones that stay, however, are very much the ‘right stuff.’ “It’s easier than that here,” said Turner, “plus we get to go home each day, but the principle is the same.” And it works.

The first to receive the new style training was an ex-truck driver and security guard Mohammed Al-Mahmadi who, as Turner put it, pestered the life out of him for a real job. “What he got was a broom.” What came back was a hug, a huge smile and six months’ vigorous sweeping. Mohammed now heads the paint-shop. If it moves, he smiles at it. If it doesn’t, he paints it. He still demonstrates tremendous tenacity by commuting 300 km round-trip to Al-Wasta, his home village, each day. Next year Mohammed will complete 10 years of service with Zahid Industries.

To say sweeping the floor came as a shock to most trainees is something of an understatement. The first — and all subsequent candidates — were each presented with a broom and told to sweep the floor of the workshop. Acceptance or refusal of the broom was the first test that the trainee encountered. Refusal because it was ‘insulting to Saudi men’ was received with a smile and precise directions as to the location of the exit.

The question “Why” however was rewarded with an explanation and full marks for passing the first test. “It was to see if the trainee was the right stuff to accept training,” the GM explained. “If he was willing to stick with sweeping the floor for maybe three months, then he had the tenacity and drive I was looking for.”

Once the floor sweeping ‘sickener’ is over and the trainees have learned how to keep their work area clean, they move to their hands-on training where they learn how to use power tools to clean metal sections before they go for painting. Trainees normally spend one month in each section of production: Engine assembly, load testing, fabrication, welding, loading and unloading until they decide where they want to work. Then comes intensive “hands-on” training to become fully qualified in their area of choice. While researching this article a training course was under way with an instructor from the Zahid Learning Center in Jeddah.

Since this shock tactic with a new type of hands-on training was introduced, only two candidates have refused to sweep the floor. One was admonished by his family but did not return and the other complained to the Labor Office and took the case to court. Raddad Al-Juhani, an impressively built 1.8 meter tall deputy manager and himself once a trainee, went to court and explained that he had swept the floor and had since climbed the career ladder. The experience of sweeping, he said, was valuable and was part of the process of introducing trainees first hand to the operation and hazards of the mechanical workshop. Good sense triumphed and the case was summarily dismissed.

The sweeping had other benefits as well. “We learned about the workshop, where things were, what the technicians did and a lot about safety,” said Ahmed Al-Mutairi who, as electrical supervisor, also started with the broom. “We quickly understood it was an important part of becoming part of the team. All the guys had done this; it was like a badge of proficiency.” The result further along the career path is that the workshop and the work areas are immaculate. Each technician cleans up out of deeply inculcated habit and a well-developed sense of pride.

Aqeel Al-Memadi is a quiet, focused young man. Having joined Zahid Industries straight from high school, he now holds, through dint of hard work and real talent, international certificates in welding. Able to command a job anywhere welders are needed, he stays with Zahid and close to his village. He grins shyly when asked why. “It’s like a family. I like it here.” It is as simple as that. Aqeel’s work now is to give on-the-job training to other young Saudis who want to become welders, and, like Mohammed in the paint shop, he will soon complete 10 years of working in Zahid Industries.

Human Resources Manager Tariq Mirza explained: “We started over 10 years ago with only a few Saudis. Today it is a success story with over 80 Saudis employed in various manually skilled positions. That shows what can be done with motivated Saudis.” He was convinced that Saudis were as serious about work as any other nationality, provided they were given the respect and training required for the job, and that managers communicated what they wanted achieved and gave feed-back on individual performance.

“It’s always better to feel that we have employee security rather than job security,” he said.

One tremendously encouraging aspect of this quietly revolutionary training is that it includes the physically challenged rather than excludes them. It is tempting to assume that the challenged are ‘not quite like us’ and should be cared for rather than given demanding work. Mirza explained that the company will have none of that and actively support and recruit special needs staff to work in all areas of the group. “It is very much a part of my job to ensure that we give employment to any special needs person who wants to work and make a career with us.”

Perhaps the most striking example is the perpetually cheerful deaf mute lad who is the lightning quick stores operator. “Hedayan isn’t here out of sympathy,” Turner averred. “He was keen to come, stayed the course and has proved to be a very valuable asset to the team. We had to take him out of the working areas due to his hearing impediment, and this did annoy him a lot, but for safety reasons we had to do it. The safest place for Hedayan is in the stores.”

The mechanical workshop is headed by Siraj Samir, who has so much energy he seems to be in at least two places at once. Not easy with a withered limb and a caliper.

And the white boxes? These highly trained and enthusiastic young men fabricate, build, paint and fit out containers with generator sets. They also assemble the engines and generators that provide the power for road works and construction sites all over the Kingdom.

A few days before I was in Yanbu, Zahid Industries had just tested the 1,000th engine to be assembled during this year, already double their previous year’s output. The many thrumming white containers dotted about Jeddah are testimony to the training scheme, the value of training and the abilities of young people who, without a little insight and initiative, might have been written off as ‘just villagers.” It does happen.

The quiet-spoken and majestically bearded 26-year-old Faisal Al-Subhi from Al-Badr, 70 km south of Yanbu, looks at first glance like the last person to be sweeping a floor. “I left school, went to night school, got married,” he said. “I need to work as I have a seven-month-old daughter. If you want me to clean, Alhamdulillah. I have responsibilities and all halal work is good work.” He knows that this is part of the training and had been with Zahid Industries just six days. I asked if he minded if he was photographed. He smiled. “Go ahead; everyone here has done this; there is no disrespect here.” The right stuff indeed.

During World War I, an eccentric Welsh aircraftsman tapped the latent strengths of local tribesmen in the Hejaz area much to the consternation of the Turkish occupiers at the time.

“Took a leaf out of his book,” smiled Turner.