Part 17

If you live and work in Saudi, you have at least as a westerner certain advantages and privileges. One of those benefits is free medical treatment. You get a card from your employer and a list of hospitals and doctors you can visit. For some peculiar reason I still haven’t got such a card, even though I’m entitled to it contractually. I have often asked and got a different answer every time. When I last asked about my medical card, I raised my voice. Well, I didn’t get the card, but I achieved something. The manager of the polytechnic ensured me that if I ever need to see a doctor, he would pay for the visit and the meds. That’s at least something. Now I got sick and need to see a half-god in white.

My project manager noticed that I’m unwell and suggested that I stayed at home until I’m well again. He doesn’t want me to infect the others, as he sees us as his livestock and we’re too precious and he can’t afford it to have half the staff sick in bed. What do I have? No idea. I feel dizzy and weak, my voice is gone and I have slight fever.
After three day in bed, I inform my project manager that I would like to see a doctor and that he should inform the manager about it. Around lunchtime I receive a phone call from the manager. He asks about my health. When I insist I want to see a doc, he says I should be ready in half an hour. Not even a quarter of an hour later he and his treasurer stand in their car outside our residence. They drive me to the military hospital, park in front of the entrance, we get off, the two Arabs walk in front of me and I follow like a little obedient boy. Inside we go through a few corridors, turn a few times and go into a small room with no windows. We sit down on three extremely comfortable big black leather arm chairs and the two start immediately small-talk with the employee. After what felt like 10 minutes, the clerk turns around to me and asks for my passport and wants to know what I have. While he types my details on his computer, the small-talk continues. Sometime later I get my passport back, we stand up, leave the room and walk through what it seems to be the same corridors. After a while we arrive at something like a help desk. Located next to the desk is a room that looks like an examination room.
“Stay here”, says the manager and disappears into the room.
“There’s no doctor in there”, he says when he comes out again.
He goes to one of the nurses and asks for the doctors. The nurse says that we have to go to another desk and have our form stamped and come back again. This we do.
Then we’re back to the same nurse.
“Where’s the doctor?” asks my manager.
“He’s with a patient” replies the nurse.
“Where?”
“In that room.”
“Aha. Where will our patient be examined?“
“Here in this one. You’ll be called. There are three other patients before you.“
This did not please my manager. He walks around the desk and disappears into a room, nurses’ or doctors’. A few seconds later he comes out with a doctor. And then there they stand all three of them (doc, manager, treasurer) and chat in Arabic. I look around and wait patiently. At some point I hear the word “Professor” and all three heads turn and stare at me. Then the whispering and chatting continues. After a minute or so I hear the word “European” and the three heads turn again and stare at me.
Then the doc comes to me and asks me to follow him. The Egyptian doc who is two heads smaller than me goes first, I follow and behind me are my two Arabs in the thobes and headscarves. On the way the doctor takes two nurses with him. I’m asked to lie down on a bed, the two Arabs sit on the bed next to mine, the doc stands at the bottom of my bed and I have the two nurses on each side, one left and one right. They immediately start to examine me. The small-talk starts too. After a few minutes the show is over, the nurses disappear, my Arabs follow them out of the room, the doc stays with me for two more minutes and then I’m allowed to get up. I feel a bit dizzy and threaten to fall, but a nurse jumps out of nowhere and holds me. We go outside to the desk and there I see the treasurer how he throws a bundle of banknotes on the desk. My Arabs get a prescription and run to the pharmacy. I’m asked to sit until they come back. After two minutes they appear through the door with a bag full of meds and drive me home.

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