By Herbert Vego
A nanny’s life in Saudi Arabia
THE TYPICAL Filipina nanny in Saudi Arabia is well-respected even in the homes of princes and princesses.
So said our informant, Kristine Dela Peña of Barangay Bacan, Cabatuan, Iloilo. She had worked as a nanny for a10-year-old daughter of a royal family whose identity she would not reveal.
She came home to Iloilo to have herself operated on because of a breast lump and to wait for the result of the teacher’s board examination she had taken.
Thank God, she has passed the board and recovered from her breast operation.
“I had not intended to work in Saudi,” Kristine said, “but a friend who had been there asked me to try it if only to broaden my horizon.”
Why not? Not just anybody could be hired as nanny of a prince’s child. A future princess’ nanny ought to be well-educated and English-speaking.
“The 10-year-old girl I was assigned to look after,” Kristine revealed, “spoke good English. She was in grade five at the King Faisal School, where tuition costs the equivalent of half a million pesos. She was already computer-literate.
“But just like us Filipinos when we were children, Saudi Arabian children like to play hide-and-seek.
“It was not easy accompanying my ward to school and from school. I had to always observe Islamic decorum when out of the house with her. I had to wear abaya and tarha.”
Abaya refers to loose-fitting black long gown; tarha, to black head scarf.
The family driver that drove her and her ward happened to be Filipino.
Filipino house workers earn an average monthly wage of 1,500 riyals or P24,000, which they could entirely send to the family back home. If they opt to buy anything in Riyadh to be sent home, they can easily buy it cheap because there is no value-added-tax imposed.
“The Filipino driver also served as bodyguard,” she shared. “But he was not allowed to talk to me whenever we were walking on the street. He had to keep a little distance behind.
“Whenever the child went to the mosque every Friday, the driver and I would have to stay outside because we are not Muslims.”
Was there ever a time when Kristine’s employer asked her to convert to Islam, if only to enable her to be with her ward within arm’s length always?
“Yes,” she enthused, “I could have accepted his offer to sponsor my conversion because any foreigner who converts to Islam is entitled to a hadja.”
A hadja is a cash gift that a Muslim employer gives to a converted employee.
Anyway, she did receive a cash gift when she revealed to her employer the result of a check-up done on her by a Saudi doctor.
“I told the prince I needed to go home for surgery,” she said. “On knowing the details, he handed me the amount I needed for the operation.”
There were two occasions when she enjoyed the privilege of accompanying the prince, his wife and their daughter abroad – in Turkey and in Dubai.
I asked Kristine how Filipino professionals were doing in Saudi Arabia.
“Filipino nurses and dentists are well-paid there,” she quipped. “It’s probably because there are very few natives who take up nursing and dentistry. I also saw many Filipinos working in banks and construction sites.”
Out of curiosity, I asked Kristine whether she saw herself marrying a prince someday.
“That is possible,” she laughed, seemingly disbelieving herself.
