What Are International Schools in Saudi Arabia Really Like? A Parent’s Honest Account
The date palm above the pickup line sways in the mild Riyadh winter wind, and I count the languages drifting past: Arabic, British English, Tagalog, a smattering of French from the French expat family that lives two doors down from us. My 10-year-old daughter Lila comes bounding over, her school polo smudged with paint, and shoves a crumpled mixed-media piece into my hands. It’s a collage of her three best friends’ favorite holidays: a crescent moon for Eid, a small Christmas tree, a rangoli pattern for Diwali. When we moved here from Dubai 18 months ago, I had no clue this is what international school in Saudi Arabia would look like.
I’d scrolled dozens of vague expat forums before we moved, full of old rumors: that all international schools are single-sex, that non-Muslim kids can’t celebrate their holidays, that only top-tier expats get in. Most of that turned out to be out of date, or just wrong. Today, most international schools in Saudi Arabia are co-ed, built to serve the large expat population working in energy, tech, and healthcare, with a growing share of local Saudi families who want bilingual education for their kids. At Lila’s school, nearly 40 percent of the student body is local, a shift I never would have expected 10 years ago.
Nearly all international schools follow well-known international curriculums—British National Curriculum, International Baccalaureate, American Common Core, or CBSE for the large Indian expat community. But what many new parents don’t know is that all international schools must follow requirements set by the Saudi Ministry of Education. Every student, even expat kids who aren’t Saudi, takes mandatory Arabic classes, and all students learn Saudi history and cultural studies. Lila complained for the first two months about extra Arabic homework, but last month she ordered our entire meal at the local shawarma place entirely in Arabic, and chatted with the owner about his grandkids. It’s a small win that never would have happened without that mandatory class.
One of the most common questions I get from new parents is about rules and restrictions. I worried too, before we moved, that dress codes would be overly strict or that my daughter would be barred from talking about her non-Muslim traditions. At Lila’s school, the uniform is standard: navy polos, khaki bottoms, and there’s no requirement for abayas on campus. For off-campus field trips, they just ask that shoulders and knees are covered, a common respectful guideline in most conservative regions around the world. The school doesn’t call its end-of-year event a Christmas fair—it’s a multi-cultural winter fair that includes every family’s traditions, with henna stalls next to cookie-decorating tables next to diya-painting stations. No one hides who they are here.
That said, it’s not perfect, and there are real trade-offs most people don’t talk about until you move here. First, the cost is steep. Tuition ranges from around 30,000 SAR ($8,000) a year for primary at a smaller school to upwards of 100,000 SAR ($27,000) a year for secondary at a top IB school. Most expat families get tuition covered by their employers, but if you’re moving here independently and paying out of pocket, it’s a massive expense that’s out of reach for most.
Second, teacher turnover is common. Most expat teachers come on two-year contracts, since few plan to stay permanently. Lila had two different form teachers in her first year, and that change threw her for a loop. She was used to having the same teacher for a full year, and the transition left her anxious for weeks. What worked for us was simple: we started a 5-minute check-in every Sunday evening, where she just has to name one thing that went well that week and one thing that felt hard. It didn’t fix the turnover, but it gave her a steady space to talk when things felt off, and it let me catch her anxiety before it got bigger.
Another big issue for many families is learning support. A lot of smaller, newer international schools cut corners on support for kids with learning differences, because hiring full-time qualified specialists is expensive. My friend Sarah has a son with dyslexia, and she toured three schools before she found one that could accommodate his needs. The tip we both share with new parents now is: don’t just ask if the school offers learning support. Ask how many full-time, qualified learning support specialists are on staff, and what percentage of the student body they work with regularly. A school that says they “accommodate” but only has one part-time specialist for 800 kids won’t be able to give your kid the consistent help they need.
One tiny, practical hack I wish someone shared with me before our first term: after-school club sign-ups fill up in 10 minutes flat. Popular clubs like robotics and horse riding are gone almost as soon as the portal opens. Set a timer, log in two minutes early, or you’ll end up on the waitlist for a full semester.
We turn onto our street, and Lila kicks the back of my seat, asking if we can stop for mango ice cream on the way home. I say yes, and she tucks her collage back into her backpack, chattering about the sleepover she’s having this weekend with Noor, her Saudi best friend, and Mia, whose family is from Canada. I still get at least one message a week from other parents getting ready to move here, asking if international schools in Saudi Arabia are right for their kids. There’s no one answer, of course. If you can cover the tuition and prioritize a diverse, internationally recognized curriculum that still integrates local culture, it works really well for a lot of families. If you need low-cost education or extensive specialized support that’s not in the school’s budget, it might not be the right fit. For us, right now, it’s ordinary, it’s a little messy, and it works.
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