How to get a job in Saudi Arabia (and why I can't work here)

Its 8:12 on a Sunday morning. A bell went off a few minutes ago, but I’m perched in a classroom, waiting for students to arrive. The walls are brightly colored, with college pennants dripping in intervals.

It feels familiar.

I’m subbing for the eighth consecutive day at the American school. Having teaching experience in all grade levels and speaking three languages meant I was a quick hire to put into their pool of substitute teachers, often made up of parents and retirees.

Photo by M Zaedm on Unsplash

I began the interview the same way as I start every interview: “I have a diplomatic visa.

I am forbidden from working.”

This is Cat in the Kingdom, an honest newsletter about life as an American living in Saudi Arabia. I’m glad you’re here, habibti!

Residency permits and work authorization in Saudi Arabia

When we first arrived to Riyadh and got our iqamas, residency permits, we were told that one of my son’s photos was negligible for use on the plastic card. Something about wearing a white t-shirt on a white background. We had gotten them professionally taken in Spain.

I consulted our compound whatsapp group. The return results were... telling.

Bleary-eyed or often not looking at the camera, that first point of entry into the Kingdom is where your iqama journey begins. With a horrific photo. Even worse than your DMV snap.

A neighbor shared a photo of her infant. It was the back of his head, and it was immortalized on his residency card.

But as diplomats, our iqamas are wildly different.

Mine says, in no uncertain fashion, that my profession is ZAUJA.

Or, wife.

Why I can’t work in Saudi Arabia.

We found out about Enrique’s appointment to Riyadh in early February of 2025. Like all things in Spain, I was cautious to consider it a done deal.

Cat in the Kingdom: How I ended up moving to Saudi Arabia

Plus, I had a big question mark: at that time, I was not a Spanish citizen. There was some confusion on the part of the Spanish Ministry of Foreign Affairs about whether or not I could even join Enrique and our children under the protection of their government, or if I would have to look for a way to get to the Kingdom on my own with an American passport.

Or just not go.

Shortly after he was named, Enrique took a crash-course in diplomatic protocol. Most of it he already knew, but he called one night with the news that, due to a lack of a bilateral agreement between Saudi Arabia and the EU, I would not be allowed to work.

I mean, it makes sense - Saudi women only recently gained rights like opening a bank account in their name. Part of it is also cultural. Saudi men often have multiple wives, whereas Europeans can’t have more than one per law.

I had dreamed of working in Riyadh in another sector: women in sports, tourism, historical preservation. Even with the war and Saudization (more on that later) and NEOM crashing out, there is so much opportunity here.

It was a blow, but perhaps I could continue at my job - I was already remote, and our MENA admissions counselor was retiring in the fall.

But I was forced to quit or take a leave of absence on account of data protection concerns. So, I relinquished my OneDrive access and my SLU ID and became a stay-at-home mom for 36 months, albeit reluctantly.

Working gave me structure and a sense of purpose outside of my children. I like having projects and being a part of a team.

I was devastated, even in the midst of mild burnout.

Shortly after learning I could not continue at SLU, I had an informational interview with an American in Dharan, and he assured me there were workarounds.

This country, as it happens, is full of workarounds.

But did I want a job?

Expatriate visas and packages

Long gone are the days of foreign workers coming to the Kingdom with all the perks. Tax-free living was one huge draw, although everyone now pays VAT tax on salaries and goods in Saudi. You got the house, the school, the visa, the lifestyle along with it as part of the deal with moving to the desert.

An Australian neighbor’s husband will be the last to come from Oz, as the packages and the visas have gotten too pricey for his company to take on anyone more.

Our Spanish friends training Saudi Air Force pilots did not have their contracts renewed because they’ve come with families. Families mean a larger house, school fees and extra seats on planes back home - families are the most expensive variable.

Living in Saudi has a shelf-life for most, anyway. You come, you save money, and you go.

While we definitely have a few paid perks that make our goal of saving easily achievable, we pay for just about everything out of pocket from the salary my husband gets as a civil servant.

Looking at costs of living in Riyadh

As part of the country’s Vision 2030, an ambitious plan to modernize Saudi Arabia and diversify its economics, new laws have been passed as part of a Saudization plan.

What is Saudization?

Saudi’s long dependence on oil has meant that the sector has been full of foreigners in high-level as well as manual labor roles.

As a key part of modernizing the country, the Ministry of Human Resources and Social Development has launched a campaign to incentivize companies in the private sector to hire Saudis, reduce reliance on foreign labor and combat unemployment - particularly among women and young people. It’s officially called Nitaqat, but everyone just refers to it as Saudization.

Photo by سيف الظاهر on Unsplash

Specific job roles and sectors have assigned quotas: healthcare, retail, professional service are among the most affected. The Nitaqat program also seeks to normalize wages for specific jobs and sectors for Saudis, raising minimum wage. Companies that are compliant have perks, such as faster visa processing for foreign workers.

This scheme is not without its drawbacks and scandals. Saudi Arabia has long relied on cheap, foreign labor from workers whose home country’s standard of living is much lower - much like migrant workers in the U.S., few Saudis would be willing to do these jobs.

What’s more, there are few consequences for nationals who don’t show up to work or do the bare minimum (I mean, the amount of men strolling around at shopping malls on weekday morning gives you pause). A Spanish friend’s husband working in construction management was advised to stay remote for a few weeks because he had aggravated his workers by setting goals and productivity KPIs.

I can’t speak for what it’s like working alongside nationals, but I have a feeling my Type-Aness would find it to be a rough transition.

The workaround to working in the Kingdom

The reason the American school could hire me (but my children’s school could not) is because the American school, as well as some other large institutions, is supported through diplomatic missions and not the Saudi Ministry of Education.

Certain embassies are another option. But, of course, the American Embassy is currently closed, and staffers had to leave several months ago. Jobs are hard to come by anyway, and they are often awarded to spouses first.

As I am not a civil servant, I am ineligible to work at the Spanish Embassy.

If I found a private company willing to sponsor me, I would be released of my diplomatic protections. With the right conditions and salary, this was something I was willing to consider until the volatile US/Israel-Iran War started. Now, it doesn’t seem smart.

Starting a business was a possibility, but it would take a run-around way to establish as an LLC in the UAE and then get permission here - from the Spanish Embassy (that’s a no), from my husband (that’s a yes) and from the Ministry of Labor (which could take 12-18 months). We are only here for three years, so I am behind.

I promise I am not gaslighting myself into a ladies-who-lunch lifestyle.

I fought and fought, complained and bemoaned the situation. Eventually, I had to give into the realities of working here.

What I am doing for work

It’s weird to be 40 and unemployed. And it’s weird and frightening to not know what’s next.

Like most people my age, I grew up babysitting and doing chores for pocket money, and I had my first hourly job at 15. I worked summers off my first teaching jobs. I monetized my hobby.

But I also needed a break after working full-time with little kids.

So, I resolved to not take a full-time job the first year of us living in the Kingdom. I wanted to recover, to spend time helping my kids adjust, to build community, to fully own the fact that Enrique was making enough money for me not to work.

After my initial interview with the American school for a sub role, they called me in for an interview with the head of primary. They were looking for an English language acquisition specialist - I had a decade of experience that trumped the lack of teaching credentials.

But I said, not this year.

Part of the decision was due to logistics: the school day did not match my children’s (they do not attend the school), meaning we would need to hire help.

But I also didn’t want to take the first job I was offered or the one I knew I could easily come back to. Teaching is Plan B.

Photo by Nick Morrison on Unsplash

Because I chose not to work in Saudi and can’t be hired by a Spanish company with my leave, the only option I had left was contract work, paid into my U.S. account. I can still claim the Foreign Earned Income Exclusion because I live 11+ months a year outside of the country; my tax returns, my history and my diplomatic passport can prove that.

I had two great interviews with a company based in Las Palmas and New York - an incredible set-up that would have allowed me to earn in the U.S. now and Spain when we go back. It didn’t work out.

I applied to other roles in companies that had entities around the world, as well as universities back in the U.S. looking for remote workers. Oftentimes, the time zones were big red flags, or the “remote” tag in their post didn’t really mean remote.

So, I bit the proverbial bullet and changed my LinkedIn location to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. If I couldn’t work, I could at least connect with other communications and higher ed professionals, right?

In a matter of hours, a message popped up in my inbox. It was from a UAE-based man who had grown up in Saudi and owned a business helping high schoolers in the region go to college in the EU. He had the business prowess, and I had the admissions insider knowledge. It was all going great, and we were laying out specifics for scope of work. Then the war hit.

In the midst of all this, I received a call back from a large EdTech company about a job I had applied to on a whim on LinkedIn sometime last fall. A skills test and an interview later, I was hired as a freelance Essay Mentor for students applying to Ivy Leagues in the U.S. I have done the training and have booked my first student. I needed something flexible and from home, and this fits the bill.

I will also be covering a friend’s leave and doing freelance for a U.S.-based vacation rental company, writing travel guides, for six months.

But on other days, I am content to pack a lunch and Uber to the American school as a sub. For a few hundred riyales, I get out of the house and stay busy. I had forgotten how much I enjoy teaching - even middle school math.

At the moment, I don’t plan to monetize my Substack. What I can offer you is an honest look at what it’s like to live in Saudi Arabia right now: how the country is changing, my observations on culture and lifestyle, our tips and tricks for the Gulf.

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