By Author: Richard P. Howard
If you want to sink into the niche story of an American who moved to Saudi Arabia’s Dhahran Camp in the 1950s — which somehow also encapsulates and engulfs an entire community — read Rich Howard’s book, “Aramco Brat: How Arabia, Oil, Gold, and Tragedy Shaped My Life.”
Part memoir, part archival documentation, the book, which was published in 2021, is a story long overdue.
“‘Aramco Brat’ is not a novel. Fiction follows themes, builds toward a climax, and generally makes sense,” the intro begins. “In comparison, this memoir is a very messy collection of observations, experiences, and a perhaps 90 percent certain conclusion. Some will accept it uncritically while some will reject it categorically; most will find plausibility.”
And, indeed, all of the above apply.
Howard takes us back to the mid-1950s, when he embarked on what would arguably be the most turbulent journey of his life. He recalls how he landed into Dhahran at six years old, after the aircraft which carried his family took several stops along the way to refuel in various countries such as the Netherlands, Italy and Lebanon.
While most of his classmates back home had only ever been to neighboring Canada, he was globe-hopping at a young age. He recounts in vivid detail the landscape, the overall mood and the general energy swirling around him. He had a sense of adventure and bewilderment early on, as he saw the morphing landscape pass before his eyes.
He remembers how the adults around him acted or reacted. He makes readers taste the sand in their mouths — or the concentrated orange juice glowing in his fridge on his first week in Dhahran. Most of all, he allows his audience to truly understand his narrative and his story, which, like the black gold, needed unearthing.
“With Dad’s employment (badge number 17208), I had become an Aramco Brat, a phrase with a parallel etymology to Army Brat. This identifier I initially found unfair but came to love. Now I was headed off to live the role,” he writes in the chapter aptly titled “Nomadic Youth.”
Aramco employees are known by their badge number, which is their employee number assigned to them at their workplace — but that is not all. That badge number is also used by the entire family for uses varying from the major to the mundane; from accessing healthcare to signing up for a dance class or to roam around the neighborhood.
As is part of the local culture, dependents could all — and still can — easily recite their parent’s badge number even decades later. The number becomes engrained within them and acts like a badge of honor that signals belonging to the Aramco community; you are one of them and they are part of you.
An Aramco Brat, a self-proclaimed label, might be one that initially seems demeaning but is worn with pride for those who qualify.
A much more specific group that goes deeper into the Aramco “badge number” culture, it is often misunderstood by outsiders. To “qualify” for the label, an Aramco Brat must have attended an Aramco school or lived in one of the Aramco camps (there are several, other than Dhahran) as a minor dependent.
The majority of Aramco Brats are American but were born in Saudi and spent their childhoods there. In many cases, Brats were born from another Brat. Many who grew up in the serene Aramco world felt a deep sense of connection with the land and its people and consider Saudi Arabia as “home.” Many would stay until retirement and their children would try to find a way back into the Kingdom to perhaps get their own badge number one day.
The book tells the story of one Aramco Brat, which, in turn, tells the collective narrative that lingers even after they each leave the Kingdom.
