My Iguana

Written July 19, 2017 12:55 PM

I don’t have an ‘iguana’ I have an iqama-the very important document that neither spell check or autocorrect likes. As I mentioned in a previous post my iqama arrived in Dhahran on July 11, which is exactly 29 days from when I landed in Saudi Arabia. When you arrive at the airport and go through ‘processing’ you surrender your passport, which puts all new arrivals in a very uncomfortable situation. Did I mention that Saudi Arabia is NOT open for casual travelers? Which means that everyone who arrives there to work is in the exact same situation as I was. It was probably a good thing they had my passport for 29 days because on day 2 after my arrival I would have on the first plane I could find to take me back home. But I couldn’t because I didn’t have my passport and the iqama -which allows me to get an exit visa so I can leave. Its pretty hard to imagine that one document is key to everything in your life. It is key to getting a SIM card for your cell phone, or internet access, or bank accounts…or visas so you can go to other countries.

A coworker and I both received the long awaited ‘your iqama is here‘ email and decided at 8 am that it was in OUR best interests to take the 5 hour round trip bus ride to Dhahran to pick up it up and come back to work. Picking this up was so important to me that I actually rescheduled a maintenance call (that I waited 2 weeks for) to add the much needed weather stripping to my front door in order to keep the geckos out! 

The HR department for my company is run just like the DMV. For those of you who are not familiar with the DMV it is an uncustomary friendly, dreadful process where you are required to go to renew your drivers license or register cars or take driving tests. At the DMV you are forced to take a number and wait for what seems like an eternity. At HR you are forced to take a number and watch as there are 4 counters each with its own numbering system. If you selected the wrong choice on the automatic ticket machine you will be required to pull a new ticket and wait, and wait.

Like DMV our HR individuals can seem to wait long enough before moving to the next number and seem perplexed when people who’s number you have passed still want to be seen and for whatever reason-those ticker/number machines only work one way and that is forward. It appears to be a flaw (almost an epidemic in all government/dmv/and hr offices worldwide…numbers can only be increment and not decreased. The goal is to cause mass chaos with those who are waiting and worried because their number has been passed and they may not be helped. 

My number was not skipped but the man in front of me was and he was desperate to get in front of me and get his turn with the HR rep dressed in the full abaya and hijab. I approached the counter and was immediately struck by how unbelievably blue the reps’ eyes were. I am not certain if they were contacts to alter the shade of her eyes but they were striking against her dark skin and deep brown hair. 

       Which…may be a good time to talk about the image of beauty the Saudi culture admires most…for good or not. They sell and advertise on TV and in magazines creams that will help to make your skin whiter. For Saudi’s the image of beauty is a fair skinned, light eyed, blond hair woman. It is at odds with everything I have been trying to dispel from the consumeristic, narcissistic American culture. I taught my daughter (AND sons) to love themselves no matter what (shape, size, income, etc.) only to step FIVE decades back into a world that still thinks Barbie is the ideal woman. So unfortunate as I think Saudi women are some of the most striking women in the world. 

Back to my igama…I give the woman my number tell her why I am here and watch her type into a computer…what is your ID number…I give it to her…she tells me ‘just a minute’ she gets up and goes into another room. What I witness next is forever etched in my mind, I see her return and in her tiny hand is a small navy blue folder…it is MY PASSPORT! I am so excited I rock back on forth in my AGI flats slightly bouncing hardly able to contain my elation! My United States Passport…finally back in my sight and within a few seconds back in my hands. I signed a form…took my passport, said shukran, and walked away from the counter.

WAIT…NO! I need to go back to the counter to get the VISA to get out of the damn country. TOO LATE, the next number had been called. Its back to the number turnstile for me and disappointingly yanking the next white ticket from the machine. But at least I had my passport and my official working document called the IGAMA!