Going to the Jeddah Economic Forum is a bit like going to the first night of a new opera production. Be it Covent Garden, the Met, La Scala or the opera house in Vienna, the foyer outside and the auditorium are full of opera buffs stretching their necks to see who is and who is not there. “Don’t look, but the minister of finance is just over there.” “Mr. XX has just walked in, but who is that with him?” “Where is Miss Otis? She always comes to a first night.”
It is much the same at the JEF. It is as much a “must” in the Kingdom’s social calendar as it in the business one. In the foyer outside before the event starts, delegates waft around, coffee and croissant in hand, in search of a well-known face, or eagerly exchanging comments with others on who has not turned up — and why. Inside, eyes scan the hall to see which minister and company CEO is there. Then suddenly the show is on and everyone settles down for the first act — which yesterday, with Lubna Al-Olayan, was an impressive performance indeed. It deserved every bit of the sustained applause it got. Typically though, once it was over, quite a number of delegates headed back for the foyer, to network, to see who was around, and consume tea and coffee. At times, it seemed that more tea and coffee were consumed by delegates than papers.
Not everyone was impressed by Lubna Al-Olayan. Over to my left, one delegate was distinctly unhappy. The scowl on his face grew ever grimmer the longer she spoke. He was almost incandescent with rage when she called for the Kingdom to embrace change. When the applause came, he kept his arms firmly folded and glowered angrily around him. Now why could that be?
* * *
“So what do you think about security?” a delegate asked. “Security? What security?” Yes, the trunks of cars were checked coming in and mirrors put under them to see if bombs were attached, but no one looked inside our car. If bombs can be placed in boots why not down behind the driver’s seat? Inside, I was waved through the metal detector arch by a smiling guard, even though the keys and mobile telephone in my pockets set off the alarm. It must have been the look of total innocence on my face.
* * *
“We will keep to time,” said the conference announcer at the beginning of the event. Some hope. We were already running 25 minutes late and we were hardly through the introductions. Despite a truncated lunch, the event still managed to end an hour late. It’s the same every year. Isn’t it about time the organizers took note and cut a speaker or two?
* * *
“Please turn off your mobile phones.” Fat chance. This is Saudi Arabia. Trying to separate Saudis from their mobiles is more difficult than trying to separate them from their wallets or trying to separate Siamese twins. The dulcet melodies of mobiles continued on and off throughout the day.
— Mountebank
