This morning as I sat down to write, a Facebook comment popped up. It was from a group of old school friends from my days living in Saudi Arabia . The group had been discussing the difficulties they faced when they moved home from Saudi. The thread put me in a melancholy mood, one of reminiscing. It also reminded me that as much as we struggle with being expats, sometimes repatriation is even harder. The story below isn’t mine, but is typical of most of us kids at the time. Saudi in the 1990s
Riyadh in the late 80’s and early 90’s was a shadow of the great city that sits central to the country today. Its dusty streets were home to few cars and fewer shops. The nomadic Bedouin lifestyle was only starting to merge with western comforts. The word of the Mutawa (religious police) was absolute, and our parents lived in fear of crossing them. Accommodation for expats was in compounds of between 20 houses and a few 100. Every compound sitting in solitude in the desert surrounded by high walls. Each compound its own little bubble.
Teen Queens
For the mid teen expat kids that lived in Saudi, the compounds and school 
were the beginning and end of our world. The strict religious regime that kept our mothers heads covered and locked them in compounds, wasn’t even a consideration. We were protected by parents and teachers from the harsh realities of living in Saudi. In turn Saudi protected us from knowing anything about the world beyond the desert. We were closeted and cosseted. We were the kings and queens of the desert. Our school with its clichéd cliques, American style classroom, games and teachings was more akin to Mean Girls than to anything Arabic. When school finished drivers would ferry us to each other’s compounds. We would swim in the shadow of palm trees and play basketball in the searing heat. We’d light fires on sand dunes and later steal our parents illegally made alcohol and sup it at midnight parties. Eventually 9th grade ended, this was the graduating year. The departing students, though fearful of what lay back in our home countries, were filled with the confidence of spoiled youth. Resplendent with the certainty that we would remain on top.
were the beginning and end of our world. The strict religious regime that kept our mothers heads covered and locked them in compounds, wasn’t even a consideration. We were protected by parents and teachers from the harsh realities of living in Saudi. In turn Saudi protected us from knowing anything about the world beyond the desert. We were closeted and cosseted. We were the kings and queens of the desert. Our school with its clichéd cliques, American style classroom, games and teachings was more akin to Mean Girls than to anything Arabic. When school finished drivers would ferry us to each other’s compounds. We would swim in the shadow of palm trees and play basketball in the searing heat. We’d light fires on sand dunes and later steal our parents illegally made alcohol and sup it at midnight parties. Eventually 9th grade ended, this was the graduating year. The departing students, though fearful of what lay back in our home countries, were filled with the confidence of spoiled youth. Resplendent with the certainty that we would remain on top.Strangers at home
The reality was rather different, back home what had seemed exotic in Saudi 
was considered weird. The kids in school had never heard of Saudi Arabia. The thought of living in the desert a cause for mockery. The initial questions: ‘Did your dad ride to school on a camel?’. ‘ Why do you speak weird?’ soon dried up as the novelty wore off. They laughed at us for being strange, then laughed again because we didn’t understand the slang or know any of the latest songs. The yawning chasm between kids of small town Britain or American and us desert
rats grew wider. We looked down our noses at their blinkered view of the world, even as we tried to fit in with a crowd of people that we had nothing in common with. For some, this sense of being an outcast has never left. The shock of repatriating so severe that it’s affected relationships into late adulthood. We all knew moving to Saudi would be hard, we never realised that coming home would be harder.
was considered weird. The kids in school had never heard of Saudi Arabia. The thought of living in the desert a cause for mockery. The initial questions: ‘Did your dad ride to school on a camel?’. ‘ Why do you speak weird?’ soon dried up as the novelty wore off. They laughed at us for being strange, then laughed again because we didn’t understand the slang or know any of the latest songs. The yawning chasm between kids of small town Britain or American and us desert
rats grew wider. We looked down our noses at their blinkered view of the world, even as we tried to fit in with a crowd of people that we had nothing in common with. For some, this sense of being an outcast has never left. The shock of repatriating so severe that it’s affected relationships into late adulthood. We all knew moving to Saudi would be hard, we never realised that coming home would be harder.Not all countries are Saudi, Not all situations as extreme. In todays world with Social Media, Skype and email it’s easy to imagine that coming home would be simpler. That our access to media channels wouldn’t leave us so blinkered to countries outside our own. That we would be able to stay in contact with friends more easily. In fact the reverse culture shock, is as real a phenomenon now as it ever was.
Friends and family will have moved on
Being able to maintain contact through social media whilst living abroad gives us an unrealistic sense of how easy it will be to settle back in. In many ways we may feel like we never left. But in our absence people will fill the gap that we left and move on with their lives. It’s unlikely that we will just slot back in to the way things were before. You are returning home to the bosom of your family, to childhood friends. To those guys you goofed around with in university. Loneliness may be the furthest thing from your mind, but it could be a very real truth.
The familiar will be unfamiliar.
When you move abroad you mentally prepare yourself for an onslaught of new experiences. Moving home you expect it all to conform to your memory, but that’s not the case. When I go back home it’s at least a week before I can get a grasp on the coins. Longer until I stop converting it back to Kenyan shillings. I’m never sure if I’m supposed to pack my bags at the supermarket or not. Every time I return a shop has moved, a new building been built. People talk about celebrities and songs I’ve never heard of. Every time you go home you need to be prepared to relearn your home country.
Sense of loss for your old country
The friends you left behind, who over time became as family. The experiences 
you had which felt exotic and exciting. Those intangibles that living abroad gives you. Whether it is better weather, access to the beach, your favorite pastry or restaurant. Returning home is like the holiday blues on steroids.
you had which felt exotic and exciting. Those intangibles that living abroad gives you. Whether it is better weather, access to the beach, your favorite pastry or restaurant. Returning home is like the holiday blues on steroids.Lifestyle step down
In Kenya we live in a house with a pool. We have a driver and a maid. When we return to England it’ll be to a small semi with a pond. In this country we live an extremely privileged life. In England we are normal people going about our business. Many expats live abroad because of the luxuries afforded to them by living an expat life. Coming home means giving this up.
It’s often thought that Repatriation is harder than expatriation. The trick is to prepare yourself for it. Treat moving home, as though it’s a move to a new country.
Expect the unexpected.
Expect to have to make new friends.
Treat each day as an adventure.
Onwards and upwards.
Some further food for thought:
A blog spoken from the heart https://expatpartnersurvival.com/2016/05/16/expat-depression-and-repatriation/
Kids are sad, here and there: don’t blame yourself https://theexpatmummy.com/my-son-is-sad-and-it-breaks-my-heart/
Repatriation for grown ups – sometimes the job bit sucks too https://www.communicaid.com/cross-cultural-training/blog/challenges-of-repatriation/
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