What Are International Schools in Saudi Arabia Really Like? A Parent’s Firsthand Perspective
The humidity stuck to my arms as I walked my 9-year-old Lila to the gate of her new international school in north Riyadh last August, the crumpled enrollment slip in my hand sticking a little to my sunscreen. A vendor selling warm date cookies waved from the curb, and a group of 10-year-olds streamed past us: one chattering in Amharic, another answering in colloquial Arabic, a third jumping in with English to invite everyone to a birthday party after school. I’d moved from Dubai for my husband’s engineering job, and before we landed, half the parents in my expat Facebook group warned me international schools here were just overpriced playgrounds for wealthy kids who never interact with local life. The other half said they were far stricter than schools back home, with lots of unspoken rules around culture that outsiders wouldn’t get. I had no clue what to expect.
The first thing that surprised me was how many local families send their kids here. I’d assumed it would be almost all expats, but Lila’s fifth grade class is 40% Saudi, with kids from Egyptian, Pakistani, British, American, and Kenyan families making up the rest. Her best friend is Zara, a Saudi girl whose mom works as a pediatrician at a local hospital and whose dad runs an environmental non-profit. On our first coffee after school started, Zara’s mom told me she and her husband chose an international school because they want their two kids to have the option to study abroad later, but also to stay deeply connected to their culture.
Unlike international schools I’ve experienced in other parts of the Middle East, the requirement here for all accredited schools to offer Islamic studies for Muslim students and Arabic for all students isn’t just a box-ticking exercise. Lila’s class has three 45-minute Arabic classes a week, and for Muslim students, Islamic studies class often ties into local projects. Last semester, Zara’s group did a presentation on conservation of the Arabian oryx, tying their work back to teachings about caring for the land. Non-Muslim students study comparative culture instead, so no one is forced into a curriculum that doesn’t fit their family. Prayer space is another thing that works smoothly: the school has quiet, separate rooms for boys and girls who want to pray five times a day, and non-Muslim kids can use that time to read or draw in their classroom if they want. Lila came home the second week saying she’d sat in the prayer room and colored while Zara and her friends prayed, and no one made her feel out of place or like she was intruding.
I had one small panic early on when Lila signed up to do a presentation on Halloween, our family’s favorite yearly tradition back in the UK. I’d heard stories of some schools banning holiday celebrations that aren’t Muslim, so I emailed the teacher to check if it was okay. She wrote back right away saying it was fine, and that the class had presentations for every major holiday across all their cultures that month. Lila brought in mini candy bags, Zara brought in kahk for Eid, and a Kenyan student brought in mandazi for Jamhuri Day. No one complained, no one made anyone feel wrong for celebrating their own traditions. That moment told me more about how the school works than any tour brochure.
Of course, it’s not perfect. Tuition is steep—most schools run between $15,000 and $35,000 a year, which puts it out of reach for a lot of families. That’s just the reality here. Most expat work packages cover tuition, but if you’re paying out of pocket, it’s a big expense. I’ve also noticed that teacher turnover is higher than at schools back home. A lot of international teachers come on two-year contracts, so Lila had two different art teachers in one year, which was disruptive for her. If you’re researching schools for your kid, one concrete thing you can do is ask the admissions office what percentage of teachers have been at the school for more than three years. That gives you a quick sense of how stable the staff is, which makes a big difference for kids.
Another practical tip: When you tour, ask how they support beginner Arabic learners. A lot of schools offer extra help for expat kids who don’t speak Arabic coming in, which is a huge benefit if you plan to stay more than a year. Lila came in with almost no Arabic, and after a year and a half she can order our food at restaurants and understand most basic conversations with friends, which is something I never would have expected if she’d just had one token class a week.
What about the curriculum? Most international schools here follow the British National Curriculum, American Common Core, or IB, same as they do anywhere else in the world. Homework is about what you’d expect: 45 minutes to an hour a night for elementary school, more for middle and high school. Extracurriculars run the gamut from robotics to horse riding, and a lot of them partner with local artists and organizations. Lila joined an after-school Arabic calligraphy club run by a local calligrapher, and she now has a framed piece she made hanging on our living room wall. Last semester, her class took a field trip to the King Abdulaziz Royal Reserve, a protected nature area outside Riyadh, for their ecosystems unit—they didn’t just study the Amazon from a textbook, they went and looked at native plants and animals an hour outside the city.
I think the biggest myth I had before we moved was that international schools here are cut off from the rest of Saudi society. That’s true for some of the smaller, older schools that were built mainly for diplomats’ kids decades ago, but most new international schools are far more integrated. Kids go on field trips to local museums, they partner with local charities for food drives, they play sports against teams from local schools. It’s not a bubble the way a lot of people describe it online.
We’re planning to move back to the UK in two years, and Lila already says she doesn’t want to leave Zara and her other friends. She’s learned more about living with people from different backgrounds in two years here than she would have in ten at a school back home. It’s not the right fit for every family. If you’re looking for a fully religious education, or a low-cost local option, it won’t check your boxes. But for us, it’s been nothing like the scary or glowing rumors I heard before we arrived. It’s just a school: it has sticky cafeteria floors, teachers that love their jobs, teachers that are just passing through, annoying homework assignments, and fun field trips. The only difference is the kids walking through the gate bring a dozen different languages and a dozen different traditions with them every day, and no one’s trying to make anyone leave that at the door. That’s more than I ever expected when I crumpled that enrollment slip in my hand two years ago.
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