I am standing beside an ATM in the Rashid Mall in al Khobar. The machine welcomed me politely - “Hello Nicholas Adrian.” If only good manners were a sure sign of efficient service. Each time I put my card into one of the machines here in Saudi Arabia my heart quickens and my stomach ties itself into a tight knot. Holding my breath, I type in the pin number, request money and wait.
Some years ago a friend of mine was traveling in India. She went to a bank in a provincial town to change US dollars, a process that would typically take her more than an hour as she visited the different counters to collect forms, signatures, deposit her dollars, pick up a receipt and finally deliver this to a cashier who would hand over the currency. Frustrated by the process she told the clerk, “You know, in my country, I simply take my card and put it into a hole in the wall and get money out straight away.” She was told, “Madam, I think that you have been in the sun too long. You should sit down. This is just not possible.”
Saudi ATMs are everywhere, but sometimes “just not possible” would be a preferable alternative to the service offered. Three years ago five hundred pounds disappear from my account without trace, only to reappear two months later with no excuse or explanation. I have had my card cancelled without warning and my pin number changed. One transaction was processed and a receipt issued, but no money was forthcoming. On another occasion the ATM spat out my money with an aggressive grating noise, only to yank it back out of my hand again like an over eager bulldog. Fortunately I managed to catch the edge of the notes and was able to drag them from the machine one by one. I often use the ATM next to Speedcash in town. In December a maintenance team had reversed the keypad for some reason. It was then that I discovered that I remember my pin by a pattern of rather too well practised finger movements, for once the number pad was upside down my brain went to mush. I walked around town for a full hour trying to recall the number, without success. I even tried typing it into different machines, but it was of no use, my memory was corrupted and I began to worry about early onset Alzheimer’s. At least when the system goes down completely as the bank “updates its software to improve customer convenience”, you know that your money is safe.
Or at least you would think so. My bank has double billed me, twice lost electronic transfers and closed down my account, all without satisfactory explanation. Sometimes I can withdraw money at the counter using my card, other times I have to present my original Iqama. Once I was told to go and use the ATM as they had run out of cash at the counter. When I complained that this wasn’t practical as the ATM would only give me SR5000 a day, the clerk suggested that I draw out the rest of my money the day after. So each time I enter the Saudi Hollandi Bank it is with a feeling of dread. I try not to go very often, which is just as well as they are only open for an hour in the afternoon, and that at a time which makes it almost impossible for us to get there from school.
With so many expatriate workers living in Saudi you would think that sending money abroad would be a simple matter. Having lost three thousand pounds in fluffed electronic transfers, I abandoned e-banking and now go to Speedcash. This is a branch of SAMBA, one of the world’s largest banks and voted Bank of the Middle East this year. Here, for a fee of fifty Riyals (about six pounds fifty), you can wire money to many countries in the world. So far it has been reliable and the exchange rate is good. The only drawbacks are that processing each transaction takes the clerks about ten minutes and the queue is always huge. The obvious solution would be to increase the number of clerks on the counter. There are, after all, half a dozen windows and terminals available. But no, this is Saudi Arabia, and so there is a long queue and only ever a couple of clerks working slowly.
Women here are not expected to queue with the men - there is a separate window for them and a club wielding security guard to keep the men at bay. No clerk though. Eventually one of the clerks serving the men will drag himself over, reluctantly abandoning his favoured computer terminal.
For the men, a typical visit to Speedcash will take an hour or more, and twice that at busy times such as Christmas, Ramadan or Eid. The solution is to take a woman along and give her your form and cash. This is queue jumping to an extent that, as an Englishman, I find completely unacceptable. I use it all the time of course, hypocritically. For the last two years, LuAnne has been making my transfers for me. After she leaves I am not sure what I will do. Perhaps I will have to go back to the technique Mart and I used some years ago - when faced with a particularly long queue, we caught a passing Filippina and paid her to do our transactions for us.
Some years ago a friend of mine was traveling in India. She went to a bank in a provincial town to change US dollars, a process that would typically take her more than an hour as she visited the different counters to collect forms, signatures, deposit her dollars, pick up a receipt and finally deliver this to a cashier who would hand over the currency. Frustrated by the process she told the clerk, “You know, in my country, I simply take my card and put it into a hole in the wall and get money out straight away.” She was told, “Madam, I think that you have been in the sun too long. You should sit down. This is just not possible.”
Saudi ATMs are everywhere, but sometimes “just not possible” would be a preferable alternative to the service offered. Three years ago five hundred pounds disappear from my account without trace, only to reappear two months later with no excuse or explanation. I have had my card cancelled without warning and my pin number changed. One transaction was processed and a receipt issued, but no money was forthcoming. On another occasion the ATM spat out my money with an aggressive grating noise, only to yank it back out of my hand again like an over eager bulldog. Fortunately I managed to catch the edge of the notes and was able to drag them from the machine one by one. I often use the ATM next to Speedcash in town. In December a maintenance team had reversed the keypad for some reason. It was then that I discovered that I remember my pin by a pattern of rather too well practised finger movements, for once the number pad was upside down my brain went to mush. I walked around town for a full hour trying to recall the number, without success. I even tried typing it into different machines, but it was of no use, my memory was corrupted and I began to worry about early onset Alzheimer’s. At least when the system goes down completely as the bank “updates its software to improve customer convenience”, you know that your money is safe.
Or at least you would think so. My bank has double billed me, twice lost electronic transfers and closed down my account, all without satisfactory explanation. Sometimes I can withdraw money at the counter using my card, other times I have to present my original Iqama. Once I was told to go and use the ATM as they had run out of cash at the counter. When I complained that this wasn’t practical as the ATM would only give me SR5000 a day, the clerk suggested that I draw out the rest of my money the day after. So each time I enter the Saudi Hollandi Bank it is with a feeling of dread. I try not to go very often, which is just as well as they are only open for an hour in the afternoon, and that at a time which makes it almost impossible for us to get there from school.
With so many expatriate workers living in Saudi you would think that sending money abroad would be a simple matter. Having lost three thousand pounds in fluffed electronic transfers, I abandoned e-banking and now go to Speedcash. This is a branch of SAMBA, one of the world’s largest banks and voted Bank of the Middle East this year. Here, for a fee of fifty Riyals (about six pounds fifty), you can wire money to many countries in the world. So far it has been reliable and the exchange rate is good. The only drawbacks are that processing each transaction takes the clerks about ten minutes and the queue is always huge. The obvious solution would be to increase the number of clerks on the counter. There are, after all, half a dozen windows and terminals available. But no, this is Saudi Arabia, and so there is a long queue and only ever a couple of clerks working slowly.
Women here are not expected to queue with the men - there is a separate window for them and a club wielding security guard to keep the men at bay. No clerk though. Eventually one of the clerks serving the men will drag himself over, reluctantly abandoning his favoured computer terminal.
For the men, a typical visit to Speedcash will take an hour or more, and twice that at busy times such as Christmas, Ramadan or Eid. The solution is to take a woman along and give her your form and cash. This is queue jumping to an extent that, as an Englishman, I find completely unacceptable. I use it all the time of course, hypocritically. For the last two years, LuAnne has been making my transfers for me. After she leaves I am not sure what I will do. Perhaps I will have to go back to the technique Mart and I used some years ago - when faced with a particularly long queue, we caught a passing Filippina and paid her to do our transactions for us.
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