RIYADH: “It’s strange, the world is like a caravan,” Mohammed said to me. “Whether you are ready to move forward or not, the caravan will.” The stoicism and calm with which he accepted the sometimes harsh realities of life was new to me at the time, coming from a more idealistic, and at times naive, way of thinking.
The mindset and philosophy that Mohammed lived by became one of the qualities I admired the most in many of the Saudi people I met over the years. He called it as he saw it, told me the truth, and began the process of dealing with reality immediately.
He once explained something to me which I had not really thought about before: “We think we can control so much — we overestimate our part in the outcome to a great degree. And what sometimes does not make sense to us always makes sense to someone.”
Worrying about things outside of your control, or water under the bridge, seemed largely absent in Mohammed and others I came to know in my circle of friends and colleagues in Saudi Arabia. The Nordic culture I come from, by contrast, often seems to hold on tightly to past glories and to a preoccupation with controlling the present, without much care for planning carefully for future generations.
A large part of learning a new culture comes down to language, to words and their meanings, much of which gets lost in translation. Over time, there were certain words I heard often, asked about, or had explained to me that presented another way of understanding life and the world. “Everything starts with Niyyah,” one of my colleagues said to me recently, and proceeded to explain the purity of one’s intent and heart before taking on a commitment. A person, I was taught, is judged by their integrity and the purity of the intent behind their actions. It seemed that many of the people I came to know in the Kingdom were more attuned to intuition than I was used to, trusting their instincts and not only how things appear to be on the surface.
What stood out to me only in retrospect, looking back at my own arrival, was how, to my surprise, my tattoos drew no attention at all; for the first time in my adult life, they were invisible.
People saw me for who I am, not for who I appeared to be. People I spoke with kept their eyes locked steadily on mine. I always felt a genuine encounter taking place; one where I was given full attention, and simultaneously a respect for whatever boundaries or private life I might have.
What I found, through the social closeness and family-centeredness that define life in Saudi Arabia, was a more holistic understanding of what a person is. Compared with the more individualistic culture I had come from, where body, mind and spirit can often feel compartmentalized — almost mechanically — here they are not so easily divided.
You are seen as a whole, inseparable from your family and your social world, a person with a life to lead, as one thread in something far larger than yourself. There did not seem to be that incessant void always aching to be filled either, but instead a sense of gratitude, or an understanding of why things are as they are.
Niyyah: Intention. The intention that sets your direction. A person is ultimately judged by the purity of intent behind their actions. Everything begins there.
Maktub: It is written. What is written for you is not meant to limit your choice, but to reassure your heart.
Qadar: Destiny. The unfolding of a wisdom beyond our own. All the chapters of a life, which we experience as they unfold.
Ibtila: Trial. A hardship through which something within you is tested, revealed, refined.
Sabr: Patience, though the word patience does not do it justice. It is strength, steadiness, and calm in what you cannot change.
Khirah: Goodness. The goodness placed in your path, even when hidden. Not a consolation, but a conviction that whatever happened is for the best.
Rahma: Mercy. Compassion, gentleness, forgiveness and kindness between one another. Forgiveness is a gift, and the ability to forgive may be the greater gift still.
Wajib: Duty. Belonging to a community creates obligations that are not negotiable.
Itqan: Mastery. To do something properly, thoroughly, and with skill.
These words I learned are more than words; they are anchor points, a way of existing with internal peace and integrity. They make one think about the motives behind one’s own actions and the underlying intent. Had you acted justly, spoken truthfully and sincerely? Had you sought reconciliation for your mistakes and wrongdoings? Had you been humble and righteous in your aspirations, virtuous in your ambitions or distracted by pure self-interest? Had you honored your duties toward your family and your profession? For a more noble cause than yourself?
The three years in the Kingdom so far have given me a richer perspective of the world than I ever had before, with friendships I never thought were possible to build later in life. I have become part of something, a community where people hold each other up in a way I had never experienced before.
One of the closest friends I have ever made put it to me plainly. When I said “Of course we are friends,” he looked at me with complete seriousness and answered, “We are not friends, we are brothers,” the weight of which I felt beyond any words I know.
— Bjorn Blomqvist is a Finnish Swedish talent acquisition and people operations leader based in Saudi Arabia since 2023, writing about career development, operational efficiency and organizational psychology drawn from his work in senior human capital delivery, program integration and local capability development in the region.
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