I was fortunate enough to go to school in New Zealand and the United States. I have worked in New Zealand, the United Kingdom, the Virgin Islands, the United States and Saudi Arabia. The company that transferred me to the United Kingdom took time to instruct me on a phenomenon called “cultural shock”. Even in a society as familiar as the United Kingdom, I was told, I would pass through four stages as I adjusted to my new environment.

There would be a “honeymoon” phase during which, the differences between the old and new culture are seen in a romantic light. After about three months I would enter the “negotiation” stage where differences between the old and new culture would give way to unpleasant feelings of frustration as I experienced unfavorable events that may be perceived as strange to my cultural attitudes. After about seven months, in the “adjustment” period, I would become accustomed to the new culture and develop coping routines. I would know what to expect. And finally after ten months, in the “adaptation” phase, I would be able to participate comfortably in the host culture.

The UK was so familiar, so similar to New Zealand that I moved seamlessly through these stages. I began to think that the perils of cultural shock were largely mumble-jumble academic sociology. A year coaching in Saudi Arabia has corrected that naïve view. After ten months I can relate absolutely with the process of honeymoon, negotiation, adjustment and adaptation.        

My Saudi experience means I know more about the Middle East than when I lived in New Zealand. Mind you that would not be difficult. Before I went to Saudi Arabia my knowledge of this part of the world was poor. Dubai was a flash airport I stopped at on the way to London. Qatar, Kuwait and Bahrain were names on a screen as I cruised at 35,000 feet above them. A year does not make me an expert on the Middle East but I do know a little more.

Of course there are a dozen cultural experiences I could discuss – everything from the lack women’s rights, to the harsh judicial process, to the obscene wealth of the Saudi royal family, to the discomfort of sitting on the floor to eat and the awkwardness of using my hands to tear apart a full sheep carcass. But instead I want to discuss a psychological difference I discovered in Saudi: a difference that sometimes caused confusion and on one occasion resulted in one of my funnier Saudi memories.

I have mentioned before the quality of the swimmers I coached in Jeddah. I have also mentioned that three of them were refugees from war ravaged Syria. Fouad is a high school student. Eyad is coming to New Zealand for the Open Nationals and is half way through a marine engineering degree. Yamen is about to graduate as a Doctor of Dentistry.

It is Yamen I want to discuss. He captures so well the psychology I found puzzling. Among the Arab people I met, and Yamen in particular, there seems to be a tremendous wish to please. There is a cultural respect for age that I was not used to. In New Zealand you would call the quality I found in Yamen – “being well brought up”. He is polite, concerned, gentle, educated, hardworking and successful. He showed sincere concern for my wellbeing and health. He ordered the hotel to service my room, he administered IV antibiotics for my infected foot and he bought fruit for a coach he was sure was not eating properly. In fact he was so caring I occasionally had to demand the right to carry my own suitcase or get my own supplies from the local shop.

Yamen asked me if he could do the Saudi Arabian Swimming Federation life-guard course. I did think it was odd that a Doctor of Dentistry would want a life-guard certificate. Yamen explained that he had an academic interest in the subject – and so I signed him up. In Saudi Arabia life-guard courses are taught by a South African ex-swimmer employed by the Federation. He may be a first class instructor, I wouldn’t know, but his social skills are in need of serious attention. This guy is no Nelson Mandela. In New Zealand he would be told to piss off after the first morning. But Yamen patiently showed no concern at the Yarpie’s brutal behaviour. Yamen complained to me but sat through the South African’s lessons politely smiling.

But the pinnacle of irony came when it was time to do the first aid portion of the lifeguard course. Now remember the South African was teaching Yamen alone. Here is how Yamen described the first aid portion of his dentistry course to me.

“I have two CPR and first aid qualifications. The first one is a main subject, studied for a semester (4 months) of two classes each week. And I passed with A+. It was very intensive and detailed and included all parts of trauma, poisoning, burning, suffocating and pregnancy emergencies.  We have a first aid professor. The second one is a normal practicing certificate.  It takes one day and is mandatory for any doctor to do before starting work.  In the end we get a CPR and first aid certificate valid for two years.”

I would have thought the instructor, knowing Yamen’s academic training, might have asked about Yamen’s first aid background. But not this guy. I sat and listened for two days while the South African swimmer lectured Yamen about first aid and CPR. What made it worse was the condescending tone of superiority that characterised everything he said. I had the uncomfortable feeling the South African was back lecturing a pre-1994 native in his homeland. I have a private pilot’s license but I would not tell the captain of an A380 how to fly.  

But through it all Yamen remained calm and respectful. At one stage he even expressed concern to me that one of the first aid instructions was wrong. “Tell him,” I said.

“Oh, no,” said Yamen. “That would be rude.”

I said, “Okay then – but promise me this. If I pass out beside the pool can you administer first aid? Keep me away from your instructor.”

Yamen agreed. The whole episode was culturally revealing and ironically hilarious.