What Saudis Are Playing Again

In a society increasingly shaped by phones and fast-paced digital life, the quiet return of board games in Saudi Arabia might seem unlikely. And yet, across homes and cafés in cities like Jeddah and Riyadh, Saudis are rediscovering the appeal of sitting down, in person, for a round of something that doesn’t require charging.

Games like Jackaroo, Saudi Deal, and Elaab Bel Khames are becoming mainstays of weekend gatherings and family nights. A recent feature in Arab News pointed to a growing appetite for locally made games that reflect Saudi humour and group dynamics. As one player put it, “Playing face to face just hits different.”

This return to analogue interaction is often described as a trend, but for many Saudis, it feels like a return to something far older.

In the 1980s, games were a regular part of domestic life. I remember watching the men in my family — uncles, cousins, even the occasional boss playing alongside his employee — gathered around a Baloot table with remarkable intensity. Baloot, a four-player card game derived from the French Belote, was traditionally a male pursuit. It relied on subtle coordination, bluffing, and restraint. The hierarchy at the table was never explicit, but if a junior player happened to outplay his superior, the next day at the office could carry a faint echo of the previous night’s game.

Carrom — or Keram, as it’s more commonly called — occupied a different space. Played by flicking discs into corner pockets on a square wooden board, it was inclusive by design. Children, guests, and women all played. It required far more skill than it appeared to. The best players had a certain stillness in their hands — the kind of control that can’t be taught, only practiced. It wasn’t a loud game, but a focused one. And in that quietness, people connected.

Games like Baloot and Carrom gave shape to time. They allowed people to gather without the need for formal hosting. One didn’t need to be especially talkative or even interesting to join — just present. They also served as social equalisers, suspending titles and age differences, if only for an hour.

What is notable about today’s resurgence is how it draws from that same principle, but adapts it to a changed society. Locally designed games now incorporate everyday language, inside jokes, and shared references — offering a form of subtle cultural authorship. As one interviewee in the article noted, “They speak our language — literally.”

That board games now feature in cafés, among mixed-gender groups and younger players, suggests they have taken on a new role. They are no longer passive entertainment or background activity. In a fast-moving country where roles and routines are shifting, board games offer something slower and more familiar.

Saudi Arabia’s board game revival isn’t simply nostalgic. Nor is it a rejection of modernity. It is a reminder that the social fabric doesn’t always need reinvention — only space. The games may look different, but what they offer remains the same: a way to be together, without needing to say much at all.

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