EDDAH: Saudi law does not offer citizenship to people who have spent a substantial part of their lives in the Kingdom nor to those born and brought up in Saudi Arabia to immigrant parents. This often leads to a constant search for lost identity and a state of internal conflict among expatriates. The problem primarily afflicts the second generation, who was born in the Kingdom and follows local lifestyle and values.
The generic feeling among most Saudi-born children with foreign parents is being lost and deprived of what they claim is their birthright. “I was born in Saudi and everything I know was fashioned and formed in this way. When I go abroad and people ask me where I am from, I don’t say India, because Saudi Arabia is my home and I cannot imagine living anywhere else,” said Jumaimah Asif, a designer living in Jeddah.
Bilal Asghar, 49 years old and hailing from Pakistan, has been working in the Kingdom as a driver for over 25 years. “My father brought me here when I was around five years and since then, we moved around the Kingdom.” Asghar is married, but his family lives in Pakistan. “I know more about this country than some Saudi kids, but I always feel they look down upon me because I am not a Saudi. Nonetheless, I love this country and wish I could live here for the rest of my life. I am loyal to this land, and even though I live apart from my family, I cannot imagine myself anywhere but in Saudi.”
In Saudi Arabia, foreign workers need to have a local sponsor, known as a kafeel. All expatriates pay a fee for an iqama (residence permit) to their kafeels. As a result of this system, expatriates live in a constant state of uncertainty, not knowing how long their kafeel will keep sponsoring them. One of them is Tariq Kashif, a 47-year-old laborer in Jeddah. “I live at the disposal of my kafeel, to whom I have to pay a regular fee to renew my iqama. This dependence is very hard for me, because I am afraid to lose my iqama one day. I never want to leave Saudi Arabia!”
Imran Akram, a 24-year-old Pakistani accountant in Jeddah, told Arab News he wished Saudis would give him a chance to integrate in their society. “I don’t know anyone in Pakistan, and Pakistanis do not consider me one of them. They say I am a foreigner, whereas the Saudis here treat me like an outcast. I feel like a global nomad.” According to Akram, it is heartbreaking that Indians and Pakistanis, who have played a significant role in the progress of the business industry, are not given a chance to fully contribute to society.
For Saudi-born expatriates, the issue has become a polarizing factor with first-generation immigrant parents and children belonging to latter generations, according to Samia Siddiqui, a 23-year-old college student in Jubail. “There is no sense of belonging. I ask myself sometimes where I really belong. And eventually, it is Saudi Arabia, because this is where I was born and raised,” she said. Siddiqui feels torn between two lands and belongs to neither.
“It hurts a lot. My parents have spent most of their lives here. I was born and raised here, and yet I feel there is a void and a lack of understanding between us and Saudis,” said Hussein Ali, a 25-year-old marketing manager in Jeddah. Hussein was born and raised in Jeddah, but holds an Indian passport. “The least we deserve is acceptability, and I think it is time for that.”
Beenish Ramzi, a 22-year-old student, born in Jeddah to Indian parents, told Arab News, “A friend recently asked me if I could read Arabic. I was fuming and yet despondent; it made me feel like an intruder.” She said her language, character, social identity, and values all conformed to Saudi Arabian traditions. “Fundamentally, my home is Saudi,” she concluded.
Bilal Asghar, 49 years old and hailing from Pakistan, has been working in the Kingdom as a driver for over 25 years. “My father brought me here when I was around five years and since then, we moved around the Kingdom.” Asghar is married, but his family lives in Pakistan. “I know more about this country than some Saudi kids, but I always feel they look down upon me because I am not a Saudi. Nonetheless, I love this country and wish I could live here for the rest of my life. I am loyal to this land, and even though I live apart from my family, I cannot imagine myself anywhere but in Saudi.”
In Saudi Arabia, foreign workers need to have a local sponsor, known as a kafeel. All expatriates pay a fee for an iqama (residence permit) to their kafeels. As a result of this system, expatriates live in a constant state of uncertainty, not knowing how long their kafeel will keep sponsoring them. One of them is Tariq Kashif, a 47-year-old laborer in Jeddah. “I live at the disposal of my kafeel, to whom I have to pay a regular fee to renew my iqama. This dependence is very hard for me, because I am afraid to lose my iqama one day. I never want to leave Saudi Arabia!”
Imran Akram, a 24-year-old Pakistani accountant in Jeddah, told Arab News he wished Saudis would give him a chance to integrate in their society. “I don’t know anyone in Pakistan, and Pakistanis do not consider me one of them. They say I am a foreigner, whereas the Saudis here treat me like an outcast. I feel like a global nomad.” According to Akram, it is heartbreaking that Indians and Pakistanis, who have played a significant role in the progress of the business industry, are not given a chance to fully contribute to society.
For Saudi-born expatriates, the issue has become a polarizing factor with first-generation immigrant parents and children belonging to latter generations, according to Samia Siddiqui, a 23-year-old college student in Jubail. “There is no sense of belonging. I ask myself sometimes where I really belong. And eventually, it is Saudi Arabia, because this is where I was born and raised,” she said. Siddiqui feels torn between two lands and belongs to neither.
“It hurts a lot. My parents have spent most of their lives here. I was born and raised here, and yet I feel there is a void and a lack of understanding between us and Saudis,” said Hussein Ali, a 25-year-old marketing manager in Jeddah. Hussein was born and raised in Jeddah, but holds an Indian passport. “The least we deserve is acceptability, and I think it is time for that.”
Beenish Ramzi, a 22-year-old student, born in Jeddah to Indian parents, told Arab News, “A friend recently asked me if I could read Arabic. I was fuming and yet despondent; it made me feel like an intruder.” She said her language, character, social identity, and values all conformed to Saudi Arabian traditions. “Fundamentally, my home is Saudi,” she concluded.
