Jeff was carpooling with another pilot to the airport today. Jeff was still upstairs getting ready, so I answered the door to let in this pilot from the second class, whom I met for the first time today. I led him into the living room where Elena was in her bassinet, so I introduced them, and he leaned down and patted her little hand. I asked him, “Do you have any children?”
Tears welled up in his eyes. “Yes, I do. I will show you.” He took out his wallet and showed me a picture of this beautiful, brown-haired six-year old girl. Then he took out a palm pilot and showed me more family pictures of his wife and daughter. He was really sniffling now.
“It’s really hard to be away, I know,” I said.
It got me thinking about the sacrifices people have had to make in coming here. Working in Saudi Arabia is unusual in that when men (and it’s mostly men who are hired in this country) from foreign countries are hired, they must come over first, without their families. There is a waiting period before the family is added onto the iqama, so for the 6-12 weeks before the process is finalized, the men must live as bachelors in their new country of residence.
Thus, I can’t even put into words how inadequate and negligent the company is. I, for example, still have not been added to the iqama. This is seven months after the process supposedly began. I came to Saudi on a 3-month visa that Jeff had to fight for the company to write the invitation letter. Luckily, being a US citizen, it was granted (Brazilians not so lucky). Two months into my visit, we contacted the company to have them extend it. They refused to help. (Actually, they told me I simply had to fly back to the US for one day for the extension- like that was realistic, also I was 8-months pregnant at the time- ludicrous!) That’s why we hastily got my black-market residency in Bahrain.
Saudi is known for being slow, very bureaucratic, and mostly, suffering from very unmotivated workers. The iqama process is not unlike applying for a US Passport, which quotes a leadtime of 4-6 weeks, but in reality, would only take about one week. So why, 28 weeks later, are many pilots still without their families? Because the company people here sit on the paperwork. And sit. And sit. And we are at their mercy.
In fact, had Jeff not fought for my visit visa, we would have been apart for the duration of my pregnancy, the birth, and first few months of Elena’s life. I understand I have to make sacrifices—Jeff beginning a new career by definition requires sacrifice. But that would’ve been ridiculous.
The Brazilians, on the other hand, left their home country for various reasons. A few have sadly left forever, believing family life elsewhere will be safer, the others plan to be in the Middle East for a few years before going back. There were massive layoffs that caused them to look elsewhere, and this current situation suits them since they are effectively quadrupling their salaries by being here.
People need jobs, and more importantly, people want to love what they’re doing. And pilots love to fly more than anything else. I think they would go anywhere the job is. And in this situation, they happen to be separated from their families for long periods of time. Many of them have young children, and months apart can seem even longer given how quickly children grow.
Seeing the pilot get emotional today punctuated just how difficult it can be to establish a life in Saudi Arabia. There is no real recourse for getting things done in a timely manner. Everything is inshallah, which may wreak havoc on your family life. Don’t you think if it really was inshallah, He would want your family to be together?
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