Onboarding in Doha

Let the prodding, poking and paperwork begin

The woman bathed in black looked at up at me from her two portable typewriters through spectacles as narrow as the slit revealing her eyes … and I thought, where am I and what decade is this?

Of course, I knew where I was – at the Ministry of Health Commission to start the onboarding process of becoming a resident of Qatar, and it was February 2022.

If it had been possible, I would have whipped out my cellphone to capture said image because it was totally incongruous with the modern, first-world Doha I had experienced to date. (As it was, when I later tried to snap a shot or three of the officialdom at play, I was quickly reprimanded. No photographs allowed).

Typewriter technology

But back to that first room towards attaining the health all-clear necessary for my QID (Qatar residency permit). With support from someone in-the-know, the bespectacled woman in flowing black robes from head to toe, bashing away at both typewriters, finally sent me on my way.

(I will still get to the bottom of this typewriter story … if only to feed the nostalgia I felt.)

Let the health checks begin

And so, I continued the journey undertaken by thousands of others like me in Qatar’s modern history. (I am told that about 90% of Qatar’s 2.8 million population (this number fluctuates dependent on your source) are foreigners, so yes, many have passed this way before).

Once the automatic doors opened and I was thrust, complete with supporting paperwork and green mamba passport, into a throbbing mass of female humanity. Not a man in sight. Just women of every age, colour and creed standing or sitting in various queues to be physically assessed (or, as I would soon learn, to be pricked and prodded) as part of the country’s compulsory health checks.

I joined the longest and nearest queue, only to be pulled from it as I neared the front following a “pay-you-no-pay” interrogation and quickly drafted into another queue to pay.

It felt a bit like being at Home Affairs or the Traffic Department in South Africa where you arrive willing and able to do what is right but with no clear signage to guide you in your intentions.

Language barriers

At this point, I should point out that while English is the shared lingua franca of Qatar, it is often basic and heavy in accent. Add masks and my growing deafness into the mix, and any interaction with anyone who isn’t South African can be challenging. It’s also probably why the Filipino woman ahead of me in the first queue had simply nodded in the affirmative when asked if I was in the correct queue.

Lesson 1: Always take your questions to those in uniforms. (In this case, it’s very likely that every woman in the room was as new and shell-shocked as me. Thankfully, you only do this once).

Lesson 2: Grow accustomed to monosyllabic instructions.

Move. Next. Papers. Blood. Bra. Pregnant.

These were the refrains of my experience. I was pretty confident I could ignore the latter – pregnant – a word filtered from one of the longer instructions issued in the X-Ray queue.

But back to the queue.

Blood drawing

After paying QR100 (about R400), a blood sample is required. (Given that I had given blood the day after I arrived in Doha, along with a compulsory COVID antigen test, I wondered why I needed to do so again). The first “blood drawing” at a medical facility had been to establish my blood type. This one was to see if I had any health challenges. Why both can’t be established in one “blood drawing” session, I am not sure … 

While I love the quaint phrasing of names here (Bulky Waste Department and Remote Search Park to mention just a few others … but more of this in a subsequent blog), there’s nothing quaint, charming or twee about giving blood.

It’s a pretty soulless experience as you are silently shepherded by security staff from one dry pasture to another. Kudos to the security staff, however, who, for the most part, patiently round up the lost sheep in an efficient, but humane, manner.

X-Rays

At least there’s seated queuing here, but still it’s silent. No-one talks, probably for reasons outlined above, but mainly because it’s an officious environment.

It’s a chest X-Ray that’s required. Fortunately, I caught the key words of bra, necklace and gown and guessed at the expectations. What I had not bargained for was the scramble for a spot in the change rooms as the to-be-captured came in and those already photographed came out!

Lesson 1: Being polite and awaiting your turn doesn’t necessarily work for everyone. Adapt, or you could literally be left out in the cold in your strange blue gown.

Lesson 2: Conversely, kindness still counts. Regardless of circumstances or cultures, giving up your spot to retrieving forgotten items for another, is mostly recognised and appreciated.

The actual X-Ray took less than two minutes, and the “blood drawing” about three minutes, but the whole process took about two hours because of the sheer volume of numbers.

Part 2

And so that concluded Part 1. Part 2 and fingerprints awaited.  

P.S. My chest and blood are good to go.