http://www.arabnews.com/?page=9§ion=0&article=60597&d=18&m=3&y=2005 Friday, 18, March, 2005 (07, Safar, 1426)
You Cannot Leave Because You Never Arrived' Lubna Hussain, [EMAIL PROTECTED] I flew into another Gulf country recently and had the shock of my life. It was almost as if all the staff had been replaced by a bunch of courteous capable androids programmed to smile and process matters quickly and efficiently. A sort of airport inspired version of the Stepford Wives. I was stunned at just how smoothly things were run and what a positive image such proficiency created of the country. After all, it is a well-known fact substantiated by several psychological studies, that first impressions are extremely important. Regardless of subsequent experiences those first 15 to 30 seconds of an initial encounter with someone or something can form very lasting ideas independent of all rationalization. My holiday destination seemed to have largely comprehended this innate human trait and had capitalized upon it to great effect. There were several lines for passport control and I stood undecided for a while as to where I should join the queue. A lady appeared and in a most unobtrusive and quietly unassuming manner gently guided me to where I should be, beaming with a genuine desire to help. The gentleman at the desk expressed his gratitude on behalf of his country that I was making this trip and slipped in the question as to how long I was staying in a style more akin to casual inquiry than Gestapo interrogation. "Have a pleasant trip!" he gestured, followed by a request that I would most definitely avail myself of in the future, "Please do come again." I felt warm, appreciated and quite honestly overwhelmed by this level of welcome. I glanced around wondering if I were the only passenger receiving such VIP treatment, but was rather amazed to see the same scenario replicated at every counter. All of humanity stood together in lines irrespective of profession or class or creed and everyone was treated with the same level of deference that I had received. Much to my astonishment, one of the Arabs manning the adjacent booth spoke to a worker in his native language, sharing a joke that made the recipient grin broadly showing off all his pearly whites. To me, this was surreal. Utopia. "If this is what it is like at the airport, if going through customs and immigration is in itself such a gratifying and agreeable experience," I reasoned to myself, "then I would love to come back." Upon my return to Riyadh airport I experienced what can only be aptly described as a culture shock. It is highly peculiar as to how our species can so easily and effortlessly adapt to circumstances superior to those that we are used to regularly experiencing without a trace of remorse or remembrance for those that preceded them. Ushered off the plane with much pomp and ceremony, the bona fide VIPs made their way to a different section of the airport where presumably they were treated with a brand of selective respect and reverence reserved for a chosen few. The fact that I had been looked upon as a celebrity at another airport a short while ago didn't qualify me for such a privilege. When it was our turn to be let out there was not a smile to be seen anywhere as we entered the twilight zone. It was as if the whole atmosphere had been sullied by memories of one airport horror story or another and these had united to form the basis of such collective depression. The crowd shuffled out in single file while abayas and headscarves were hastily rearranged. One of my friends has described this phenomenon as "feeling guilty for fear of a crime you could have committed, or at least you may well be accused of". It is almost as if you have this dreadful apprehension of what could happen whether it actually will or not being an entirely different story. The line up is a scene reminiscent of the usual suspects. People of Asian origin can expect a much lengthier wait than their fair-skinned counterparts. Unwritten rules are implicitly understood by all. The mood is always somber in case you are singled out from the crowd with a grin on your face and stand accused of importing some contraband joy into the country. And then there are the actual queues themselves that take on a life of their own. You might have waited for ages in a particular row when suddenly, just as your turn approaches, the line mysteriously disappears. The man at the booth vanishes into thin air, the counter is closed and all those who were behind you have scuttled off to join another one and you are invariably last again. It appears that there is an incentive system pertaining to one cup of tea for every 10 passports stamped. In light of what I have just narrated, would it be too much to ask for our authorities to ascribe more importance to creating positive lasting and more correct perceptions of our great country through what certainly is the first point of call for almost all of our visitors and guests? Instead of the often impolite and unfriendly treatment meted out to foreigners, can't we reflect the traditional values of our wonderful religion pertaining to hospitality and generosity of spirit? Many people are often stumped by simple questions at immigration because of their inability to communicate in Arabic. In a country that entertains a huge expatriate work force, should it not be a minimal requirement to at the very least have officers who are conversant in English? Is it beyond possibility to train airport staff to be courteous, pleasant and efficient? If it can be done so effectively by our neighbors then why not by us? There really should be some evaluation procedure in place to ensure that passengers are treated equitably and reasonably in spite of who they are and what they do. Officials need to be monitored for displaying such qualities and acknowledged, rewarded and promoted accordingly. And realistically, is it that hard to smile? Being a fastidious and paranoid traveler, one of my relatives proceeded to complete his immigration formalities two hours ahead of his departure time and was rather perplexed as to why the officer went AWOL while still clutching his passport. Having waited for an interminable 60 minutes he began to panic and drew the attention of an officer in an adjacent booth. He too disappeared for half an hour, but returned thereafter with no response. Agitated by this lack of concern, my relative asked where his passport was. "Oh! In there. That room," he divulged pointing his finger at an office. "Well, may I have it back?" he requested, acutely aware of the fact that he would miss his flight. "No," was the simple response. "Excuse me," he retorted entirely exacerbated by this charade, "but my flight takes off in 30 minutes and I still need to proceed through the security check." "OK. Just one minute. You wait!" he gruffly commanded as the traveler attempted to follow him in. Both officers reemerged from behind an enclosed area without any passport. "I want my passport!" was the plea chanted with ever-growing impatience. "Your passport?" inquired the first official. By now the aggrieved gentleman was exasperated and demanded to see the supervisor. When this chap emerged carrying the document my relative felt a great sense of relief. "Thank you very much!" he remarked with heartfelt gratitude. "I am sorry," said the bureaucrat shaking his head, "but you can't leave here." "What!" he challenged by now totally distraught. "Yes sir. You cannot leave because, according to our system, you never arrived!" * * * (Lubna Hussain is a Saudi writer. She is based in Riyadh.) [Non-text portions of this message have been removed] ------------------------ Yahoo! Groups Sponsor --------------------~--> What would our lives be like without music, dance, and theater? Donate or volunteer in the arts today at Network for Good! http://us.click.yahoo.com/pkgkPB/SOnJAA/Zx0JAA/uTGrlB/TM --------------------------------------------------------------------~-> Post message: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Subscribe : [EMAIL PROTECTED] Unsubscribe : [EMAIL PROTECTED] List owner : [EMAIL PROTECTED] Homepage : http://proletar.8m.com/ Yahoo! Groups Links <*> To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/proletar/ <*> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: [EMAIL PROTECTED] <*> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/
