The Kids Want a Camel

Dubai... Eight Years Later

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 11 Jan 2018 07:13:00 +0000

“And you Americans elected Trump,” she says with a sneer.

It’s the moment I realize we’ve actually left the country.

The flight attendant continues with a smile: “Wouldn’t it be great if we land in Dubai and he’s been assassinated?”

It’s a jarring statement, especially coming from a woman whose headband sprouts two bouncy Christmas reindeers popping forward on springs.

“I’m hoping for a heart attack,” I say meekly.

“Yah, I hear he has McDonalds twice a day.” And with that, she pushes her beverage cart down the aisle.

We are sitting in coach on our flight from London to Dubai. How did she know we weren’t Trump supporters?

I can only assume that the international contempt for our president is so far-reaching, it wouldn’t even occur to her that I’d be offended by the remarks.

It’s been almost eight years since I’ve taken this flight. On our plane from Los Angeles to London, PopPop and I were in business class, and the upper level of the enormous aircraft had been largely empty, it being Christmas eve and all. The most prominent passengers were two well-dressed and obviously-well traveled gay men, who knew precisely when in the flight to change into their night clothes for sleeping, and precisely when to change into their smartly accessorized day outfits and shiny shoes before landing.

Down on this lower level, it’s a whole other universe. Turbans, headscarves, face veils, crying children (one of whom I think just threw up in the seat in front of me), every shade of skin color. This is part of what makes me feel so emotional about Dubai: I love its universal appeal, and how a group like this one puts our full humanity on display. Back in southern California it’s so easy to become comfortably numb amongst the homogeneity; on this plane, by contrast, it’s impossible to ignore our different customs, languages, and styles of dress. All of us in coach are suffering through each wailing baby and moment of turbulence together, and I feel like we are bonded together somehow. If a dramatic flight event took place like it does in the movies, I have no doubt that we would coalesce immediately into a functional and effective team, all superficial distinctions erased.

On this trip, I hope to revisit the sites of my Dubai past—the supermarket, the mall, the gated neighborhood—to see if the reality matches my memories. And of course, to be reunited with my best Dubai friend, a.k.a. the Australian, and our driver, a.k.a. the Z-Man!

I can’t make sense of the in-flight map because right now it’s in Arabic, but I think in about four hours, I will be reunited with Dubai. I can’t believe it.

It’s 4am. I’ve been awake since 1:45am. Because jet lag.

Our arrival into Dubai was exhilarating. It was 11:45pm when we landed, and I immediately switched from worrying about whether we’d get held up in immigration due to the one Xanax pill I had in my wallet to worrying about how the Z-Man was going to find us and whether my dad would be surprised. I also didn’t know if I was supposed to have some visa paperwork or if we’d be asked a lot of questions about our travel plans (would we omit the part about our plan to swing through Israel?), so it was a relief to be greeted by an immigration officer (dressed in the traditional white Arab robe and headscarf, naturally) who was smiling and friendly and let us right through. We were passing by the long line of Indian drivers when I heard my name called—and there was the Z-Man, beaming, jolly, beelining towards us—and thankfully I had phone in hand and was able to record my dad and the Z-Man’s joyous reunion (the Z-Man had tears on his cheeks!).

Stepping outside for the first time in 24 hours, the air felt heavy and warm (the Z-Man’s protestations that it was cold notwithstanding) (it was around 70 degrees; everything is relative!). The Z-Man drove us to our hotel, chatting the whole way about the city’s new developments in that broken English way that both charms and confounds me (hence my famous misunderstanding of his pronunciation of the word “government,” which led to a thousand family “Gorman” jokes). We said goodbye to him at the curb with such gusto and hugs that the Filipino bellmen exchanged glances.

The hotel (Emirates Jumeira Towers) was gorgeous and decadent and all the other things you’d expect from one of the world’s great tourist destinations, even at 1am. Pop and I said goodnight and tried to get some sleep, but the 12-hour time difference and the excitement kept us both awake.

After reveling from our respective windows at the foggy spectacle taking place outside our 43^rd floor hotel rooms, we met for breakfast in the fancy club lounge, saying “I still can’t believe we’re here!” over and over again.

Morning view from the 43rd floor

I didn’t think I’d cry but of course I did when the Australian arrived to pick us up; it had only been 3 years since our last visit (she’d traveled to the US for my 40^th birthday party!) but even 3 years is a long time between close friends.

She took us on a tour of some of our favorite spots: first our old house (it looked the same, albeit with a Rolls Royce now in the driveway), then the neighborhood clubhouse where Pop had transformed himself from round to ripped in the gym (not one but TWO of the gym trainers recognized Pop—by name!), then the shopping plaza where the girls had taken ballet classes, then the beachfront where Pop used to take his daily walks, and finally one of my favorite malls, Ibn Battuta. At each stop, I began by saying, “I don’t remember any of this!” but then, a muscle memory would reliably kick in, and I’d think aloud, “I feel like there’s something over here…” and follow some internal GPS and sure enough, there would be the cat food aisle or the playground or the Starbucks of my past.

A lot was unchanged—the green park in front of our house, the ornate tiles decorating the vaulted cathedral-like ceilings at the mall, the children’s nursery school entrance; a lot was renovated and more spacious—the supermarket and Dubai’s answer to Target, Carrefour!, had both been remodeled to give them a more open, fluorescent-lit feel; and some were absolutely unrecognizable—the beach at JBR, which had once been an untouched expanse of sand, was now crowded to near overflow with pop-up shops, craft markets, and new hotels. There was even a new ISLAND right off the shoreline (man-made, of course), sporting an absolutely MASSIVE ferris wheel that’s still under construction (Dubai’s answer to the London Eye, the Australian says).

housemaid advertisement

another

McDonalds innovation!

magazines

the beach is now a shopping center!

Five Guys in Dubai

fanciest Starbucks I've ever seen

When I’m home in the US, the dismal state of American politics is always at the forefront of my mind (maybe because I can’t look away from the train wreck of the 24-hour cable news cycle). But here in Dubai, the political undercurrent is still the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. The Australian told us that in her daughter’s homework assignments, Israel is referred to by an “I” with a line crossed through it (!!!), and at the craft market, we saw t-shirts with images like, “My heart beats for Palestine” and an outline of the state of Israel with a huge Arabic word written though it (“I don’t know what that says, but I KNOW what that says,” remarked Pop). My senses were heightened by the fact that I’d just watched Season 4 of Transparent on the plane ride over, not knowing in advance that most of the episodes chronicle the family’s tour through Israel, and I was weighed down by the character Allie’s crisis of conscience at having befriended a bunch of politically active Palestinians who recommended a complete boycott of all Israeli goods. I was looking for a newspaper but no luck; I’d wanted to see if there were still references to “Occupied Jerusalem” as I recalled.

We returned to the hotel without having bought much—a belt for Pop, a Muslim-garbed Barbie for me—fully feeling the jetlag and wondering if 3pm was too early for bed. I ended up turning in at 7:30pm, but Pop was the ultimate good sport and rallied for dinner with the Z-Man that got him home at 8pm. I hope he is sleeping now!

Today we plan on visiting Karama, the market of knockoff everything, and Mall of the Emirates. I am already getting nervous about our adventure to Israel early tomorrow—please, universe, don’t let the letlag and lack of proper meals slow us down! And now, another attempt at sleep…

3:39 am. We need to leave for the airport at 5:30am so I think the sleeping portion of my evening is over.

Perusing a newspaper yesterday at breakfast, I discovered that yes, articles about Israel still state that the events are taking place in “Occupied Jerusalem,” so apparently that situation hasn’t evolved. While I have been making a concerted effort to avoid watching the news while we’re here, for fear of finding out something that will make me anxious during our travels, it was a relief to see that the front page news stories were about medical tourism and Dubai’s architectural achievements as opposed to some pending international crisis.

"Occupied Jerusalem"

After breakfast I headed with the Australian to Mall of the Emirates because I wanted to see the ski slope again. To my delight, I learned that the attraction now has penguins (which the Australian tells me were shipped in from TEXAS, of all places!). The penguins were sleeping but I was at least able to watch an adorable video of their antics on a huge jumbotron over the snow play area.

The mall—just like the city itself—seemed so much BIGGER than I remembered. And unlike our first days in Dubai back in 2008, when my skin prickled every time we walked passed a fully veiled woman or a man in traditional Arab dress, yesterday they hardly even registered in my consciousness. And when the call to prayer was played over the mall loudspeaker at lunchtime, I could barely hear it over the din, and I did not notice anyone making any movements in response. It was just background noise.

We stopped by the pharmacy because, on principle, I wanted to buy a medicine that is prescription-only in the US (cheap thrill!). So I picked up a 6-day supply of Zithromax which I can pretty much guarantee will now sit in my medicine cabinet forever as a souvenir.

After spending some time at the Australian’s house with her family (where her daughter explained to me that kids at school use the word “transgender” as a slur, and they are taught in their classes that Israelis are terrorists) (yikes), I came back to the hotel to pack up my bags. Even though traffic lights have replaced many of the roundabouts, plenty of them still remain, as do the maddening speed bumps. Between that and the heat (it was only 77 degrees but for some reason felt oppressive), I was glad to take a rest.

We had one more item on our Dubai checklist: karama, the knockoff market typically frequented by low-income housekeepers and wayward tourists. It was a virtual ghost town at 7pm on a weeknight, so at the sight of Pop and the Z-Man and me, every vendor leapt out of his folding chair and began aggressively badgering us: “Rolex watch.” “Handbags.” “T-shirts.” “Good price!” Pop and I— in what must be somehow American social conditioning—could not help ourselves from politely responding with, “No thank you,” and, in Pop’s case, “I don’t need a watch, I have nowhere I need to be.” But of course, engaging only encouraged the vendors more. I wished I could follow the Z-Man’s lead: he just kept his head down as he walked and ignored them altogether. I tried that but I couldn’t do it, perhaps because I felt that ignoring them would have angered or provoked them, and there were just so many of them.

I ended up buying a soap made with camel’s milk (?) just because of the adorable cartoon characters on the front of the canvas pouch, and didn’t bother negotiating the price because, again, Americans!, the process made me uncomfortable and it was only about $6. In light of the #metoo movement, I wonder if I didn’t want to bargain because bargaining feels inherently confrontational, and why would I want to confront a group of four Arab men when I’m alone in their shop in a largely deserted marketplace? Of course Pop and the Z-Man were in a nearby shop so it wasn't a logical fear… but it directed my behavior nonetheless.

We headed back to the hotel and I already had a lump in my throat at the prospect of Pop and the Z-Man’s goodbye. The Z-Man will probably never be able to get a visa to visit us in the US, and I have no idea when we will be back in Dubai next. The Z-Man had tears in his eyes before he even got out of the car, and I fell apart myself when Pop offered the Z-Man some money as a thank you gift, and the Z-Man stepped back in horror. There was a sad exchange where the Z-Man, tears on his face, was saying, “No, no,” and Pop was trying to put the money in his hand, saying, “Don’t insult me, my brother, this is for your kids, I love you.” Lord, I'm getting emotional just writing about it! The Z-Man eventually accepted the money and we all rushed away after a hug because it was all just too much.

The only thing I wasn’t able to do during our visit was check in on our housekeeper, Alice… neither the Z-Man nor the Australian had any information on her whereabouts. I wanted to see her not because it would have been at ALL like our reunion with the Z-Man (my interaction with her was always markedly uncomfortable, presumably because my distinctly American social style was so different from how she was used to being treated by her employers), but because my heart still hurts for her two sons growing up without their mother in the Philippines, and I wanted to give her some Christmas money (or, as Daddy calls it, her 401K installment).

Other than that, we accomplished everything we wanted to in Dubai, and I was able to take many, many postcard-esque photographs from the window of the 43^rd floor. Dubai is as shiny, dusty, crowded, deserted, smooth, jagged, and mysterious as I remember it… Pop even said, “I think maybe Dubai saved my life.” I think he’s right.

goodbye, skyline

So for that, if for no other reason, I will always hold a place in my heart for Dubai.

❤️

EPILOGUE

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 12:55:00 +0000

Today the kids were upstairs playing school. Sushi descended the stairs in full travel regalia: hat, sunglasses, high heels, backpack. "Where are you going, Teacher?" I asked. "Africa," she replied. "Oh yeah? Do you know anyone there?" I inquired. The six-year-old benignly rolled her eyes at me. "Um, yes. [S] from my class. And [J] our old housekeeper..."

For what must be the millionth time, I was struck with a pang of loss. How many children of Sushi's age have legitimate connections to several countries outside of her own? And what wouldn't I give to go back to Dubai and make more?

We are coming up on the one-year anniversary of our return to the United States. On July 1 of last year, we thought we had arrived here for a summer visit, not knowing at the time that our family would not be going back to the UAE in the fall. We had said hasty goodbyes to friends and the kids' classmates, not infusing the departure with extraordinary significance. We had driven mindlessly past the schools and the mosques and the shopping malls, not bothering to memorize the details or take note of the architecture. We had absent-mindedly closed the door to our magnificent three-story mansion, not taking the kids on one last lap of the playroom or the roofdeck or the grassy field in front of the house.

And then suddenly it was all gone.

One year later, our unexpected departure from Dubai evokes in me a visceral response not unlike my feelings surrounding the loss of my mother in 2007-- a surge of sadness, a sharp awareness of something taken away, and a knee-jerk repression of any further thoughts on the subject. It's not as profound a devastation as losing a parent, of course; but it still hurts.

You may be reading this with incredulity: surely I am being melodramatic if not downright maudlin about the whole thing. It was just a relocation after all. And perhaps I am suffering from some misplaced nostalgia which puts my Dubai memories under a fuzzy lens. But I think I speak for PopPop, too, when I say that both of us are missing Dubai more, instead of less, as time goes by.

Perhaps that's because little reminders of our time there abound: the wax paper in the kitchen drawer with the Arabic script on its box, the bathroom cabinet's stockpile of antibiotics purchased at the Dubai drugstore without a prescription, the Emirates luggage tags and Dubai immigration stickers wallpapering our suitcases (causing one of my bags to be seized by security after I accidentally left it in an airport gift shop; could have done without the quarantined area and the sniffer dogs that day). We are still frequently introduced to new people as "the ones who lived in Dubai," and our fantastically supportive rabbi can't seem to make it through a Friday night service without gesturing playfully to us and announcing to the congregation, "You can't get this in Abu Dhabi!"

So what is it that I miss so desperately? Well not the oppressive heat, of course... or the dusty unfinished roads rife with nausea-inducing speed bumps... or the often-futile search for familiar brands in the grocery stores... or the outrageously high prices on imports and child-related items... or my neurotic obsession with the fact that we were Jews in an Arab country... or the vague discomfort I continued to experience while walking side-by-side with fully-veiled, seemingly faceless Muslim women in the decadent shopping malls.

No, what I miss is vastly more "meta" than those day-to-day details. I miss the sense of *adventure* that infused our lives in Dubai. Meeting people of countless ethnicities and cultures and languages. Being forced out of our comfort zones and becoming more worldly, more tolerant, more compassionate as a result. Exposing our children to the GLOBE and not just the very narrow American take on it. Coming to understand opposing viewpoints on international conflict and the extent to which our respective media controls us all. And feeling so proud of us for getting out of our own way, abandoning our myriad misconceptions about what life in the UAE would be like, and allowing ourselves to fall in love with life abroad.

I especially miss the microcosm of the world that existed inside our Dubai house. I could not have been happier with PopPop living with us and yet having his own private apartment on the third floor. I loved the way that Alice, our devoted Filipino nanny, treated our children like her own; and I was moved by the passion with which the Z-Man, Daddy's Pakistani driver, wanted to protect us and educate us about his part of the world. Everything about that house now seems to me so precious-- right down to the barely-functional baby monitors and wholly inept handyman service and the squeaky wooden front door that swelled so much in the heat that it would not close without a fight.

It goes without saying, I hope, that I am also heartsick about not being able to see my Dubai friends anymore. Bonnie and Clyde, who were giving me an insider's perspective into Muslim issues. The German, who, despite our falling out over neighborly boundaries, continues to send me the occasional affectionate email. Makes-My-Own-Pillows, who had her fourth baby and was counting on me to be there for her happy occasion. Mommy-of-Screamer's-Soulmate, who had invited me to go into business with her this year. And especially The Australian, who has been going through her own personal challenges, and whom I so desperately want to hug.

Facebook has eased some of the shock of the transition... I am FB friends with almost all of my Dubai gang, right down to the teachers and the babysitters... but it's not the same. Celebrating birthdays with an electronic card or getting important news via status update is a constant reminder that there are miles and miles and miles that separate you and the people you love.

Certainly there is a part of me that is happy to be home-- of course it is a relief to be reunited with my American friends and our old schools and be close to family again. Also, I'm not sure that I wouldn't have had an apoplectic fit if we HAD still been in the UAE this past year during the uprisings in Egypt and Libya... and when that American reporter was attacked amidst cries of "Jew! Jew!"... and when Bin Laden was killed. The Australian had even contacted me after the Bin Laden episode to say, "Be happy you're not here; the US Embassy has issued a warning for Americans." So yes, perhaps it was a good thing that we were sent home when we were, as I was always a tad paranoid while we were there.

But oh, my longing for Dubai is at times almost tangible. To walk through the colorful hallways of the American school... or to peer through the windows onto the ski slope at Mall of the Emirates, or admire the giant replica of the ship at Ibn Battuta Mall, or visit the world's largest fish tank at the Dubai Mall... to drop off the girls at ballet class and meet The Australian for our Saturday morning Starbucks... to go to the Marina and let the children frolic in the jumping fountains... to drive too fast down the desert-lined highway with my Adam Lambert CD defiantly playing through open windows... to pull up to the Clubhouse just in time to see PopPop emerging from the gym in his muscle shirt and Ray Bans... to hear the not-at-ALL-subtle "AHEM" of the Z-Man as he tried to get my attention away from my computer... to be greeted by Alice's never-too-friendly-but-always-sincere "Morning ma'm" in the kitchen as she was packing the kids' lunches... to have the girls stand at the bottom of the spiral staircase and ya-HOOOOOO up to PopPop to let him know they were home... to sit at the oversized dining room table and play "the letter game" over dinner... THESE are the memories that make my heart ache.

*sigh*

Ok, enough sentimental walking down memory lane. [pulling self together] What's been going on over the past nine months since I last wrote? Here are our updates... drumroll please!

DADDY - The biggest news: Daddy has a new job! That's right, he's no longer with the company for which we packed up and moved to the other side of the planet. I can't go into too much detail, because he still has dealings with the former group... but suffice it to say that he was offered a position with a company that has a less complicated infrastructure (recall that Daddy's original company was purchased in large part by a UAE-based company, hence our relocation to set up a Middle East presence) and a seemingly more stable trajectory. And while on the one hand I regret that Daddy left the old company before he could be fully rewarded for all the sacrifices he made, on the other hand Daddy seems utterly fulfilled and appreciated at his new job, and that is, at the end of the day, all anybody can really ask for. I continue to be absolutely blown away by Daddy's brilliance and professional accomplishments, and I am reveling in the fact that the industry at large is finally beginning to publicly acknowledge what I have known all along. Daddy for the win!!

POPPOP - PopPop and I have taken our departure from Dubai the hardest-- and I think PopPop would go back there in a *heartbeat* if he could. That said, he has been the ULTIMATE good sport, never complaining about the fact that he had JUST renewed the tenants' lease on his house when we found out we were staying here, and ALWAYS showing up with a smile to cover the slack during all of Daddy's many, many business trips of late. The purple worm didn't survive the trip home, but it has been replaced with other, better, PopPop magic: pulling jelly beans out of belly buttons, trailblazing alligator hunts in our back yard, and, most recently, coming up with new and interesting proposals for extracting loose baby teeth. He continues to be the patriarch of our clan and we all, rightfully, worship him. :)

[Shout-out to TESS for continuing to put a roof over PopPop's head! We love you and love having you in the mix!!!]

SUSHI - Now a whopping 6 years old and headed into first grade in the fall. Sushi has been completely kicking ASS at her fancy private school (at which kindergarten was hardly child's play-- they covered topics ranging from Ella Fitzgerald to mathematical fractions). Straight A's both semesters-- and she even stole the show at a recent dance recital. She is both a completely mature kid (she loves nothing more than sitting at the grown-up table and participating in adult conversations) and a completely immature kid (she still throws temper tantrums when she gets tired, which aggravates me TO NO END). She has started writing her first "book" (about a child who wakes up as the President of the United States) and we are excited to see how Daddy's and my nerdy DNA will continue to propel her academic career.

SCREAMER - Now four-and-a-half. Taught herself to read. This is not a joke. With Sushi, we watched the educational videos, we sounded out the words.... With Screamer, one day she just picked up a book and started reading to us. This is both a blessing-- what smarts! what initiative!-- and a curse-- for now we have been guilted into also signing her up for the very expensive private school so that she can have a stimulating and challenging year. Screamer has additionally been excelling at gymnastics-- never before has a kid been born into such a gymnast's physique-- and we are constantly being told by the coaches that she was made for this sport. Sadly she has outgrown of a lot of the ditziness that made her our little wood nymph, oftentimes surprising us with feistiness when duking it out with her sisters; but she can play school by *herself* for hours, talking sweetly and nurturingly to her stuffed animal students. (That is, until she tosses them violently into the time out corner-- you'd think that she was breaking up a knife fight by the way they get disciplined.)

BABY - Was 6 months old when we first landed in Dubai. Is now 3 and has an opinion on everything. Was the youngest in the family to give up her pacifiers (2 and a half as compared to Screamer at nearly 4) and has an independence and fearlessness that I attribute in part to our overseas experience. She is a silly, happy kid who loves to play school with her sisters and wash ANYTHING with a spray bottle and get her nails painted. And oh-- I guess she's not a baby anymore. :)

HARRY - The old cat survived the 24-hour trip-- twice!-- and is presently napping in the sun. He sends his regards.

BABYCAT - Our adopted Dubai kitten was able to do what our Filipino housekeeper was not-- become a United States resident. Surprisingly, we were not required to quarantine either feline when we returned to the country, despite the fact that Babycat had been rescued from an abandoned construction site in the UAE, and we only needed to show (and I use that term loosely, since the airport employee could not have cared less) a certificate of health from our Dubai vet. Go figure. Babycat has adjusted quickly to American life and the other neighborhood cats have finally stopped making fun of her accent. (ba-dum-bump)

Z-MAN - Here's where the updates take a turn for the worse, as our departure has not been easy for the lovely people who lived with us at the house. The gentle giant Z-Man went back to Pakistan for his (arranged) marriage over the summer (the good news!) but has returned to the UAE to become something of a lost soul (the bad news). He has not secured permanent employment, doing odd jobs for Daddy's old company, and mostly seems to be just moping around Abu Dhabi missing *us*. He calls from a voice-over-internet phone occasionally, and goes on and on in the saddest way about how he should be happy as a newlywed but is not... how he thinks of us and the kids all the time... and how he just wants God to grace us with a happy life. I wish we could bring him here, if only for a visit... but YOU try to get an American visa for a hulking 30-something Pakistani man in this day and age. Sad face.

[Side note: PopPop and Z-Man are Facebook friends. Pause for a moment to appreciate the absurdity of that fact. Gotta hand it to Mark Zuckerberg for truly making the world a very, very small place.]

ALICE - Another imperfect ending. The Australian was able to find Alice a family in Abu Dhabi to work for... but apparently the schedule is unforgiving, the family might be leaving, and she has not made many friends in her new neighborhood. Most sobering of all is the fact that she apparently keeps a photo of us by her bed (*us*-- but not her own children) and says things to the other housemaids along the lines of, "This family will come back for me." We DID explore this possibility when we first returned to the US-- not because we needed a live-in nanny here but because we couldn't bear to leave her behind-- but again, a visa is a virtual impossibility. The only way we could bring a Filipino housekeeper into the country is if we could prove that WE would only be in the USA on a temporary basis before being assigned elsewhere... and even then, she could only stay for a year. I exchange text messages with Alice very occasionally-- usually on the subject of American Idol, which is huge in the Philippines-- and while she is predictably terse she also never fails to say she misses the children.

JULIA - Ah yes, the housekeeper of the notoriously short-lived employment who ultimately accused us of firing her because she is black (good times). After we let her go because of visa problems and whatnot, we urged her to return to Nigeria and regroup. She refused and assured us that God would provide. And I guess He did, since, according to The Australian, she works for a family in Abu Dhabi now. The Australian (who also moved to Abu Dhabi) sometimes bumps in to her but avoids it if at all possible. And who could blame her. Awkwaaard.

ALICE'S SISTER-IN-LAW (ASIL) - Yikes, maybe the most dramatic story of all. Recall that ASIL had been sent to Dubai by her family when her husband (Alice's brother) lost his job. Her English was almost non-existent and she had no experience with housekeeping, so we asked her to stay with us so that Alice could show her the ropes. Well, after we left Dubai, The Australian-- bless her!-- opened up her heart and her home to ASIL so that she wouldn't be fed to the wolves of the general marketplace... only to have ASIL first brillo-pad The Australian's car in an attempt to clean it (removing much of the paint), THEN mistake Tylenol for children's treats, and THEN have something of a *nervous breakdown* and quietly demand that The Australian's husband buy her a plane ticket back to the Philippines. I still don't understand what happened to ASIL-- though her epic hysteria in the driveway when PopPop and I were saying goodbye *should* have been a red flag of instability-- but I thank The Australians for sending her back home (at quite a cost, all in) and hope that her own family could give her the peace of mind she couldn't find with borrowed ones.

Finally, ME - I'm fine. I'm good. I'm less overwhelmed than I've been in years, I suppose-- what with all three kids out of toddlerhood and in the same summer camp and on the same schedule. For the next two months I will have more extended periods of unstructured alone time than I have possibly *ever* had-- which leaves me no excuse not to do things like finish this blog and unpack the remaining Dubai boxes (Daddy bought us a GLORIOUS new home that I ADORE!!) and organize the garage and start to formulate a plan for one day going back to work. I can't help but worry about what's next-- it causes me stress that Daddy's new company is based out of California and it's only a matter of time before we're asked to move again-- but I am trying VERY hard to live in the present, and appreciate this present chapter of calm. Lord knows life can change in the blink of an eye, and these quiet, predictable days are NOT to be taken for granted. So while I absolutely, positively miss the subtle *thrill* of waking up every day in the Middle East-- whether I was in the mall or at the school or even in my own home flanked by our Filipino housekeeper and our Pakistani driver, I was always in a state of heightened awareness-- I must also concede that there is a very distinct comfort in having been returned home safe and sound.

One last heartbreak for Daddy, PopPop and me is how LITTLE the children remember of our time in Dubai, even though it ended for them barely a year ago. Understandably, Baby remembers nothing of it... but astonishingly, Screamer remembers almost as much. When asked, Screamer can't recall the name of her best friend there OR our live-in housekeeper (!!!), which for PopPop and me is like a stab to the heart. THANKFULLY, the clever, memory-like-an-elephant Sushi is our saving grace on this front: she has many vivid memories of Dubai, still includes Z-Man and Alice when listing her family members, and often asks when we can go back and visit.

Speaking of which, for a kindergarten project a few months ago, Sushi was required to design a travel brochure. During the school day and without any input at ALL from us, Sushi created this:

[Come and visit Dubi]

(Editorial note: These are construction workers.)

[You can ride the airplane.]

(Editorial note: We did NOT make her fly on FedEx.)

[Burge Kulifa is one of the tallest buildings in the world.]

[Dubi its so cool you can see all of the bildings and dirt.]

(Ed. Note: that's her drawing of the iconic Burj Al-Arab, also seen in the photo of Screamer and Supernanny at the top of this post. Not bad, huh?)

It brings me great comfort to know that, for at least *one* of our children, Dubai will be a permanent fixture in her psychological landscape just like it will be for us adults. At first I didn't want to go there... but just as Daddy predicted would happen, then I didn't want to leave.

That chapter of our lives may be over, but this story has no end. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

xoxo,

Jessica

Post Script. I never did make a close female Muslim friend in Dubai; was never privy to that suspenseful moment when a veiled woman, far from the prying eyes of unmarried men, removes her headscarf to reveal her precious hair underneath. For this I will always be sorry. But thanks to a terrific book, I did feel like I'd been allowed a glimpse of the unseeable. I highly recommend Dr. Quanta A. Ahmed's "In The Land of Invisible Women: A Female Doctor's Journey in the Saudi Kingdom" for anyone interested in women's issues in the Middle East.

A great, compelling read told from a Western perspective.

And with that, dear friends, I bid you farewell and much love.

Searching for the Bright Side.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 28 Sep 2010 00:14:00 +0000

So here I am.

Sitting in the same old desk chair, at the same old desk, as when I wrote the very first entry of this blog a few years ago. In the good ol' USA.

It's incredible how this adventure is ending almost exactly how it began: Daddy is away for an entire month (only this time he's selling off, as opposed to buying up, the items of our Dubai world)... PopPop and I are depressed and commiserating (thank goodness we have the ever-ebullient "Tess" around to lift both of our spirits)... and none of us quite knows what's next for us. In other words, an oddly familiar cloud of uncertainty, resentment, and despair is obstructing our view.

So in a futile attempt to alleviate the I-MISS-DUBAI blues (I get all choked up whenever I think of our utopian home life, Screamer's little soulmate, or my best girls whom I had to leave behind), I have cobbled together a list of twenty things I will NOT miss about Dubai. (Avert your eyes, C, M, M, and S back in the desert, unless you want to be reminded of the occasional annoyances that Dubai living has to offer.)

Therefore I am happily saying GOOD RIDDANCE to the following trivial inconveniences of UAE life, in no particular order:

1) military time on all the digital clocks. I am not that good at math anymore.

2) electrical plugs that require adapters, even right out of the box from a UAE store. I shudder to think of the cumulative time I lost aggravatingly opening and closing drawers in an exasperating adapter search.

3) temperature measured in Centigrade, and weight measured in kilograms. See item #1 above re: my math skills.

4) a marble and stone house in which the baby monitors' reception was spotty at best. Daddy and I probably would have had a much more lively social life had I been confident that ANYONE in the 3-story estate would have heard the occasional plaintive cry for a glass of water.

5) the hugely limited grocery store options, particularly as pertained to American brands. Glorious was the day when a sole package of Eggo waffles magically appeared in our local frozen food section... and long were the months before another box would materialize.

6) the jacked up prices on said American export items. The $14 package of Oreos (which I *bought*, mind you) will live on in infamy.

7) the kajillions of speed bumps. Sure, I quietly blamed the Z-Man for my nausea, but we all knew it was the roads themselves I was mad at.

8) roundabouts where traffic lights should be. As if I wasn't nauseous enough from the speed bumps.

9) streets with either no signs, or a miniscule sign like this: "Street 2." Thanks for making a handicapped sense of direction even MORE useless, Dubai.

10) infuriatingly shaped milk containers. Unfortunately I didn't get the chance to take a photo, but you have to take my word for it on this one: the plastic cartons were just elongated cubes with a hole cut through the top for your fingers to (theoretically) go through. Supposedly it was designed this way to save refrigerator space but clearly, the true purpose was to maximize spillage.

11) no cell phone reception in the house.

12) ...and the companion item to #11: a cell phone company that was lobbying to build a cell phone tower about 20 feet from our BACK YARD. Suffice it to say I had already alerted the newspapers that I was planning a splashy demonstration to protest the first sign of breaking ground.

13) the 3-day suspension of radio programming whenever an important person died. I mean no disrespect here, obviously. But as someone who does not enjoy classical music, which apparently is the only thing allowed to be broadcast during times of national mourning, I absorbed every moment of that loss.

14) no electrical outlets in the bathrooms. It seems UAE architects do not use flat irons.

15) having to pay for shopping carts. Sure, it was only 1 dirham, and ok, you could get it back when you returned the cart, but oh come on.

16) phone numbers written without spaces or hypens. YOU try to remember 0506582394.

17) salons that only offer threading, but not waxing, of eyebrows. Since I was too chicken to try the threading (it supposedly shapes better but hurts more), I was left to my own pathetic plucking devices. For about two years.

18) cars that make an annoying ding! ding! ding! whenever you go over the local limit, and continue ding!ing until you slow down. Some of us have a need... for speed.

19) internet censorship. I bid an unsentimental farewell to this message:

"We apologize the site you are attempting to visit has been blocked due to the content being inconsistent with the religious, cultural, political and moral values of the United Arab Emirates."

I was just trying to view people's photos on Twitter, damnit!, but what I got instead was this:

And last but not least,

20) American Idol, always broadcast 24 hours after the live show, and long after the rest of the world had already found out that Kris Allen, tragically, had won. :)

So there you are. Back in America I now have more Eggo varieties than I could ever sample; a cell phone I can use in our home office while keeping our land line as a paperweight; and American Idol-- a.k.a. The World's Most Jump-the-Shark-iest Show-- soon coming to me live and in full Seacrest definition.

And to THINK that I was actually feeling depressed a few minutes ago!

;)

Spoiler Alert! Stop Reading If You Don't Want to Know How It Ends.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 23:49:00 +0000

Right now I’m on an airplane.

Ten hours left to go on a 15-hour flight.

And I can’t sleep.

Usually, sleeping on an airplane is no problem for me. Especially when, on occasions such as this, I gobbled up a tablet of everyone’s favorite travel sedative, Dramamine.

But here I am. Everyone around me is happily dreaming. And my bloodshot eyes won’t stay shut.

Maybe it has something to do with the ordeal I’ve just been through.

You see, today I closed the chapter on our lives in Dubai.

I don’t even know where to start. This is hardly the blog post I was expecting to be writing at the end of the summer.

Do I tell you about the New Jersey hotel room we were staying in at the end of August, where, as I was lying in bed drowsily reading my book, Daddy came in after finishing a conference call and whispered, so as not to wake the children, “Honey, there’s been a development….”?

Do I tell you about the tears that involuntarily flooded my eyes as he began to form words like “restructuring” and “reassigned” and “not sure they want us to get on the plane next week”?

Do I tell you about my heavy, heavy heart as I excused PopPop and myself from our family going-away party, because I couldn’t bear waiting one minute longer to tell him of the news that was going to rock all of our worlds?

Do I tell you about the virtual fire drill that ensued once we realized that, whereas school in the UAE had not yet begun, our kindergarten here in the States had started two weeks ago?

Do I tell you about the manic 48-hour house hunt we embarked upon in the hopes of magically and instantaneously relocating our family to the part of town districted to the most acclaimed public school? Or the literal eleventh-hour decision to sign Sushi up for one of the most reputable—and expensive—private schools in the county?

Do I tell you about the funk that both PopPop and I quickly slipped into as Daddy boarded a plane back to Dubai for a company board meeting, and the two of us were left to contemplate the realities of a sudden relocation back to the USA? One we hadn’t planned for emotionally (we’d been having the time of our lives!) or logistically (see, i.e., schools... and homeowner PopPop’s recent renewal of his tenants’ lease, leaving him essentially homeless back in the States)?

How my head hurt, all the time?

The way I was constantly falling to pieces, at even the most fleeting thought of the life in Dubai that was astonishingly no longer ours: the superlative academic programs, our devoted “staff,” the international thrills, and the irreplaceable friendships, both on the adults’ part as well as the kids’?

In other words, do I tell you of my broken heart?

Well, no.

That would be silly. You all know what a broken heart feels like.

Rather, I wanted to remind you of that trite expression, “We make plans. Life laughs.”

Cuz let me tell you, we had big plans for this next year in Dubai, having every reason to believe that it would be our last. (Daddy had originally signed on for only a two-year expat contract, which would be coming due next month; later we had—I thought—all agreed to extend it for a third and final year.) (Apparently not everyone got that memo.) We’d planned to travel more around the region, taking better advantage of the ridiculously luxurious live-in help that we might never have again. We’d planned to have more friends and family come to visit us. We’d planned to watch proudly as an excited Screamer marched off to the “big kids’ school” with her sister Sushi, seeing as our school in Dubai, unlike the schools in our home state that adhered strictly to a September 1 birthday cutoff, was willing to place her according to aptitude and bump her up to the next grade level.

Yet there I stood a few hours ago in the overheated driveway of our beloved Dubai home— a dramatically sobbing housemaid clutching my shoulder, a conspicuously sniffling driver revving the engine, and two miserable cats wailing from their crates in the back seat of the car.

At the moment it almost feels like I dreamed the whole thing.

And yet the facts remain: PopPop and I are presently heading back to the USA, having spent a mere 36 hours in Dubai grabbing our most treasured belongings and saying a few agonizing goodbyes and gathering up the reluctant felines... while Daddy stays behind (like the unflappable head of the family that he is) to pack up the house, find new jobs for the maids and the driver, sell the furniture and the cars, and turn off all the utilities. The three kids, meanwhile, have been looked after for the past couple of days by the marvelous Supernanny and the equally extraordinary Mr. Supernanny (no offense intended, A; your alternative nickname can be The Hulk, because you’re so mightily muscle-bound these days), as well as my precious, generous, ever-the-lifesaver BFF "Kate" (as in Bosworth, because of her similarly striking two-toned eyes).

And somehow life just goes on.

This is not the last I want to write to you about Dubai—I need a few days to process a jumble of extreme emotions and complicated thoughts—but I figured it was time to let you in on what’s been going on.

Because in a way, you were on this incredible adventure right along with us.

I’m just so terribly sorry that there won't be more Dubai story to tell.

Which—in light of the overwhelming fear and uncertainty that punctuated the first several entries of this blog back in September 2008—leads me to believe that Life is having a big ol’ guffaw at my expense right about now.

Happy New Year.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 10 Sep 2010 01:45:00 +0000

Today I celebrated the Jewish New Year. In America.

What the heck are you still doing in America??, you ask, acknowledging that the school year is starting and we live in Dubai.

Well, friends, that's a story for another day. A long story. One I don't have the energy to share now. But I will soon, I promise.

No, today I just wanted to tell you about spending Rosh Hashanah in America, after nearly two years in the UAE.

It was, in a word, wonderful.

It was wonderful because...

It was the first time that my 5-year-old daughter could follow along in the prayerbook, and participate in the responsive readings.

The melodies and songs were all familiar, and even if I didn't remember the exact words, I had the gist.

So many members of the congregation went out of their way to welcome us, knowing of our travels and appreciating that for us, this was not just another high holiday.

My 3-year-old daughter was invited by a little boy from the temple summer camp to go sit with him and his family on the other side of the room... and she happily went, without once looking back.

None of my kids cried or fussed during the service.

We got to hear the shofar being blown, which, if you ask me, is always good luck.

Afterwards, we went to the home of my oldest friend, and were treated to a delightful meal that was warm and comforting and reminiscent of everything that means "family."

None of my kids cried or fussed during the long car ride.

I was celebrating in a country where the Jewish holiday was not ignored or tolerated, but, as evidenced by the widespread school closings, respected.

I didn't feel like I was missing out.

This year, I was on the inside.

This year... I am coming home.

I wish you and yours a year of joy, possibilities, and above all, peace. Shana tova. xoxo.

A Welcome Reassurance.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 07 Aug 2010 11:04:00 +0000

Thank you, Zunaid! :)

"For what it's worth I don't find your blog off-putting at all. I think it's a rather interesting perspective on life in the UAE from an outsider's viewpoint.

Just two comments from me:
1. Are you sure that is what Ameen meant? Maybe he got the word order mixed up? Easy to do if English isn't your first language for example.
2. Whatever you do, at the end of your time in the UAE don't come away assuming that Arab culture equates to Muslim culture or vice versa. If you really want a broader experience of the religion in different cultural contexts you'll need to visit other Muslim-majority countries such as Indonesia, Malaysia, Turkey and even Pakistan and Iran. That should just about cover all your bases ;)

From a non-offended Muslim reader.

To paraphrase Dory from Finding Nemo: "just keep blogging, just keep blogging..." ;)"

Little Miss Unpopular.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 13:08:00 +0000

Hello. Sorry I've been quiet lately. But I just picked up a comment to my entry about the consequences of pre-marital sex for Muslims that I thought was worth sharing:

"I really don't like you, but I would like to point out something that you obviously would not know as a non-Muslim. The lashes thing, its SORT OF the girl's fault, because if she did have consensual sex, she shouldn't have made it public. In religion, it states that a man came to the Prophet PBUH and told him he had committed zinnah i.e. extramarital sex, and the Prophet PBUH HAD to have him stoned to death but the same man had gone to the Prophet's companions earlier who repeatedly told him to keep the matter private. Basically, this means that Allah hides your secrets and forgives you when and if you repent truly, so if the man had just stayed quiet and repented, he would have been granted mercy and would not have to be punished in this life. Similarly, this girl, if she had consensual sex, should've kept it to herself as well.

May Allah bless you and your family in all that you do, Ameen."

Wanted to repost this for two reasons: First, because the content is very interesting... and second, because the "I really don't like you" part has sent me reeling. (Not even "I don't really like you"!-- it's "I *really* don't like you.)

This bothers me because I have tried, when expressing my discomfort over certain Muslim traditions and rules, to be as open-minded and non-judgmental as I could possibly be. I have tried to be respectful, even when stating my Western-influenced dismay, and I have tried to educate myself a bit so that I could present a somewhat balanced description. But the above comment makes me feel like I have failed-- like I have described our experiences in the UAE in a way that has been off-putting to a Muslim reader. Which was certainly never my intent.

I have learned, the hard way through the experience of this blog, that people do not like to read about themselves in anything other than the most exemplary terms. I have probably made more enemies than friends as a result of it, in fact. And yet I keep writing, as much for myself (it helps me process our experiences in a foreign land if I can think through them in writing) as for my friends back home who have expressed an interest in our travels. And I think I will continue to be honest, because I would not be able to stand behind my efforts here if I felt like I was compromising my ideas.

But still.

I don't like the idea that I have offended anyone.

Cuz I guess that I, too, only want to be thought of in exemplary terms.

So I restate my standing invitation to the author of the above comment, or any other person of the Muslim faith who has stumbled upon my blog: I would like to be friends. I would like to learn more about you, and what you believe. I came to the UAE very willing to learn more about a culture and religion that was wholly unknown to me, and I remain committed to that end.

In other words, you don't have to like me, I guess, but I'm still open to liking you.

Sex and The City 2: An Insider's Take.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 17:22:00 +0000

I am a HUGE Sex and the City (SATC) fan.

I lived and breathed that series for years. Not so much for the labels and the shoes (I can't be bothered with expensive stuff like that; would rather buy 100 pairs of $12 shoes and wear each of them one time before they fall apart), but because of the honesty. I loved the honesty of the relationships between the women, and the honesty of the relationships between the women and the men. I mean, who among us can say that she never let her heart be broken again and again and again by a Mr. Big? And who among us didn't look to an Aidan to kiss it and make the hurt go away?

So when I finally saw SATC2, after what felt like an eternity of waiting (the movie has been *banned* here in the UAE, despite the fact that it is supposed to take place here) (it was actually filmed in Morocco), my first impression was that, even with its occasionally amateurish script and somewhat unsatisfying plot, it lived up to its legacy and was... *honest*. About the UAE. From the viewpoint of a first-time American visitor.

Now, if you've read any of the reviews, you'll know that the movie was panned not only for its content (which I didn't think was *that* bad... but then again, maybe I was just SO relieved to see my four favorite fictional girls again), but for its portrayal of Muslims. I saw the film described on more than one occasion as "offensive" and, in one instance, guilty of "lampooning" the Arab people.

Part of me thinks that this was just a knee-jerk reaction by a bunch of movie reviewers who have never even *been* to this part of the world, and don't really know anything about Muslim culture, all just mindlessly pushing and shoving to be the first in line to show how PC and forward-thinking *they* are.

And yes, there *were* moments that Michael Patrick King did go too far. Among them:

1) The four women singing "I Am Woman" at the karaoke bar. I thought this was the low point of the movie, not only because it squandered the opportunity to create a truly memorable, fun moment (my husband suggested that, if the objective was to make a statement about women, they would have been better off with something upbeat like "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun")... and not just because it's a song that people of my generation don't even know... but because it was way, way too obvious in its agenda. I mean, have you ever looked at the lyrics of that song before? (Let me guess: you haven't.) Well here they are:

I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to go back an' pretend
'Cause I've heard it all before
And I've been down there on the floor
No one's ever gonna keep me down again

Oh yes, I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to
I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

You can bend but never break me
'Cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
And I come back even stronger
Not a novice any longer
'Cause you've deepened the conviction in my soul

Oh, yes, I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to
I can face anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

I am woman watch me grow
See me standing toe to toe
As I spread my lovin' arms across the land
But I'm still an embryo
With a long, long way to go
Until I make my brother understand

Oh, yes, I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to
I can face anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong
I am woman

We get it, uber-writer-director-producer Michael Patrick King (hereafter, MPK). You think the women of the Middle East are oppressed. They need to roar more. To be more strong and invincible. We get it. But hitting us over the head with it is beneath you.

2) The use of the abayas and the face veils as a comedic disguise for the four women on the run. Now I get that it was right there, and a hard punchline to resist... but maybe it should have been resisted anyway. Because those garments aren't a fashion statement (or lack thereof); they are pieces of clothing ostensibly worn in response to what Muslims believe is a directive from God. So to have Carrie, et al., goofing off behind veils is probably a little disrespectful.

and, last but of course not least...

3) The Samantha meltdown in the marketplace, which culminates in her thrusting her hips wildly at the agitated robed men who surround her and screaming, "Yes! I HAVE SEX!" Now here, too, you certainly get what MPK was going for-- a loud and clear message that women should be free to express themselves sexually, and that any society that prohibits women from doing so is (a) oppressive; (b) unenlightened; and (c) a fair target of ridicule.

But again, what MPK lost sight of with his script is that the Muslim prohibition on extra-marital sex is (I believe) a religious mandate. In other words, it's not some passing social convention; rather, it is an enduring religious principle that has, I assume, some express foundation in religious scripture. So to have Samantha make a scene like this is kind of like having her show up at a Hasidic Jewish household and run around pulling off all the women's wigs (if people even do this anymore, I have no idea) and telling them how much they are missing out on, while brushing her long, luxurious hair.

So okay, we can all agree that there was some religious insensitivity on display here.

However.

It is an insensitivity that is not wholly unfounded. If I can be so bold.

Rather, I think that, even in it's most cringe-worthy moments, the movie rather accurately reflects the (yes, sometimes-politically-incorrect) first impressions of a first-time American visitor to the UAE.

In truth, I didn't actually pick up on a lot of the "offensive" parts until I watched the movie a *second* time. The *first* time I saw it, I was too busy giggling at how similar *my* first impressions were during *my* first week here in the UAE.

Just like Carrie and co., I, too...

... was tickled by the Arabic script on the Pringles can;

... was grateful not to have a conspicuously Jewish last name;

... was fascinated by the abundant rhinestone embellishment sparkling on many a covered woman's veil and cuff hem;

... marveled at the process by which fully-veiled women have to painstakingly lift the veil for every bite of food; and

... chuckled at the concept of a "birkini" bathing suit.

Is this "insensitive"? Does it make me "intolerant"? Were these first impressions of mine "offensive" to Muslim people?

I hope not, and I don't think so. Rather, these first impressions were simply a product of my admitted ignorance of Arab culture, and a function of the vast cultural divide that currently exists between many Judeo-Christian Americans and the native Muslim population.

I mean, honestly, I am TRYING, every day that I live here, to silence the little voice inside of me that still gasps on the rare occasion that I see a woman who has her *entire* body cloaked in black-- not even those slits for the eyes-- just a solid black shroud walking through the mall. (She can see, I believe, through the thinner material over her face.) I try to tell myself that it is probably her CHOICE to dress this way (at least, that's what the official representative of the Center for Cultural Understanding told me), and that she probably is doing so out of a spiritual obligation to God.

But you must believe me, silencing this little voice is VERY hard. Perhaps it's just because, in America, I had never seen anything like this before... and because I was conditioned by my university women's studies classes to have a reflex-like aversion to any social classifications of people merely on the basis of their biological sex.

It is also very hard not to feel about the veils the same way that Carrie did when she likened them to the caricature with the tape over its mouth; it is *hard* not to think of those veils as a means of silencing women and trying to make them invisible. Now I *know* that the covered women don't *feel* that they are being silenced (again, this is what I've been told)... but it's hard. It's hard to see a woman whose mouth is covered by a veil, and still believe that she is free to speak.

But I am trying to see it that way. I am trying to accept unfamiliar religious traditions without applying my own Western judgments to them. We all need to try. We all need to make the effort to learn about the things we don't know, and don't yet understand.

That doesn't make those first impressions any less valid, though.

So I guess what I'm saying is that MPK wasn't wrong to have the SATC girls react the way they did when they first encountered the UAE culture: I consider myself a pretty open-minded person, and I felt much the same way when I first arrived. Perhaps his mistake was setting the movie here in the first place. Being schooled in a grand political statement on the status of Middle Eastern women, and the degree to which they need to start roaring, wasn't really what the SATC audience was coming out for. We came to see our old friends, and laugh with them, and cry with them, and leave the theater feeling warm and fuzzy and in the mood for a Cosmo.

In other words-- We love you, MPK. But next time leave the heavy-handed political commentary to someone who *doesn't* have Samantha Jones to account for. :)

The Silver Linings.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 17:08:00 +0000

It occurred to me that a bunch of my recent posts about Dubai have been a little negative. That's probably because the bad stuff always makes for more interesting blogging, I think, than the good stuff.

But I would hate to give the impression that Dubai has been a negative experience for us personally. In truth, it's been a remarkable experience.

We have lived here for more than a year and a half now, having arrived in November 2008. Here are some of the things that I have truly been impressed by.

1) The international community. Never before have I been surrounded by a group of people for whom "What country are you from?" is the natural progression from an initial introduction. My 5-year-old now proudly explains that she has friends from Lebanon, Germany, India, Pakistan, Canada, South Africa, Wales, Italy, Croatia, and Spain. I highly doubt she'd be able to rattle off all of those countries so effortlessly if we'd stayed in the U.S., let alone have names and stories to go along with each of them. It's very cool to become intimately acquainted with the vast expanse of world beyond America's borders.

2) The schools. Sure, they cost a fortune, but we have been thrilled with the education that all 3 of the kids have been receiving here. Sushi's Pre-K class this year tackled subjects that I honestly did not expect to see until first grade: real addition and subtraction worksheets; short books for homework; the travels of Christopher Columbus. And this is PRE-K! I can only imagine what she will learn in kindergarten next year.

3) The welcoming environment. Before we landed in this part of the world, I imagined that we Americans would stick out like a sore thumb and generally feel like outsiders wherever we went. Now, it's true that a subtle anti-American sentiment does exist here (for example, when our 15-year-old British babysitter told her friends she was working for an American family, she felt compelled to follow it up with, "They're not all bad!"), but I think that's a function of simply living outside of America as opposed to being in the UAE specifically. Furthermore, I've detected that slight snobbery among fellow expats from Europe as opposed to the locals themselves (then again, I've never met a local, but I digress). The truth is I actually feel largely accepted and safe here. Even the semi-hidden fact that I am Jewish has never caused an issue outside of my own paranoid imagination.

4) The lifestyle. There is literally nothing more you could ask for when it comes to the malls, the restaurants, the brands, the labels. It's as if the cream of all the crops has converged here to offer a diversity unlike anything I've seen before. Dubai Mall's directory of 1,200+ stores really says it all (can you even *think* of 1,200 stores, let alone shop in 1,200 stores?).

5) The weather. Honestly, it's not that bad for most of the year. I mean, yes, it's now June, and the kids can't play outside anymore. And sure, by the time August rolls around, you can't even open the door without the heat smacking you in the face like a wet towel. But for most of the year, it's fine, if not downright heavenly between November and March. And it's only rained a handful of days the whole time we've lived here. There are virtually no bugs. There is hardly ever a thunderstorm. There are no earthquakes or hurricanes. At worst, it's HOT HOT HOT, and the occasional sandstorm is highly annoying to the sensitive eyes. But it's not nearly as insufferable as I expected.

6) The high roller fantasy. I admit that my conscience is somewhat bothered by the fact that just about every store and restaurant in the mall is staffed exclusively by Filipino workers, and that every single house appears to have a Filipino maid, and that nearly every single construction worker, gas station attendant, and delivery person is of Indian descent. I wish that the racial components of Dubai's society were more balanced. That said, it has been an INCREDIBLE, INCREDIBLE luxury to have Alice living with us, and Z-Man driving Daddy on his hourlong commute to work each day. I mean, these are indulgences that we never could have afforded in the USA. I cannot tell a lie: it's a scream to be addressed as "ma'am." As if I could ever be anyone's ma'am! Have you met me? ;)

7) The variety of children-oriented activities. This is not a bad place to be raising little kids. On a weekly basis, my girls have participated in all of these extra-curricular activities: Playball, Little Gym, swimming lessons, drama class, ballet, and soccer. Pre-K finished only two days ago and already my 5-year-old has started at an indoor day camp. Add to this the abundance of indoor play areas and McDonalds and water parks and Wanado City-type operations, and you'd be hard-pressed to think of anything more a kid could ask for.

8) The friendships. It goes without saying that I miss my friends and family back home very, VERY much. And if it weren't for Facebook-- which keeps me up to date and involved in my friends' lives in a way that email never could-- this would be an infinitely harder, lonelier experience. But I'm happy to say that I have also met a couple of women here who actually GET ME. And I get them. Which is something that I had never dared to imagine before we made this move. Now granted, these are not Arab women (much to the disappointment of my burning curiosity). But they are moms, who arrived in this country feeling like fish out of water, determined to make a happy life for their families here... just like me. And their love and support and companionship has been a wonderful surprise.

9) The Western influence. Alright, maybe some of the tv programs are a season or two behind, but I *never* expected that something like American Idol would be broadcast here only a day or two after the live broadcast (and then repeated incessantly)... or that the Kardashians would be on every ten minutes... or that a movie like Iron Man 2 would actually debut here in Dubai *before* it opened in America! Every mall has current American pop music being piped into its changing rooms (would you believe I've even had to speak to store managers-- twice!-- because I found the R-rated lyrics of the rap music to be offensive??), and the UAE tabloids even keep tabs on a bunch of American stars (though they also tend heavily toward Bollywood actors, interestingly). And forget about my frenzied purchases of long-sleeves and long dresses right before we boarded that first Dubai flight: I see plenty of cleavage and short shorts running around here on a daily basis, and I have found it to be nearly *impossible* to find a one-piece bathing suit amidst a sea of zzzexy bikini options. Who knew.

10) The change of perspective. Just about the ONLY thing that I don't love about living in Dubai is that I feel we can't be openly Jewish here, and that there is no Jewish community that exists beyond the occasional closed doors. I am genuinely saddened by the fact that my little girls are missing out on the identity-molding education that they would otherwise be getting right now at our Jewish nursery school back in the USA.

And yet.

Being a Jewish family-- one that's been saddled with all of the preconceptions and prejudices that I think often come part and parcel with being Jewish and being American in the 21st century-- it has been an invaluable experience to view life from the other side of the looking glass for a little while. When we first arrived here, I was astounded that "Palestine" had been given a booth at the school's International Day... now, I not only expect it, but I understand why it belongs there. (It goes without saying that I wish Israel also had been given a booth, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.) Before this adventure, I reflexively took Israel's side in every fight... now, I probe the political motives of the media before I make up my mind. (For whatever it's worth, I've concluded that "impartial reporting" on any Arab-Israeli affair is unrealistic... but even *that* is a valuable revelation for me.) Had we stayed in America, I never would have given a second thought to those women whose faces are completely cloaked in traditional Muslim dress: I would have assumed that those women are oppressed and degraded and that was that. Now, I have ambivalent feelings about the covered women of the Middle East: if they say that covering their faces is their choice, who am *I* to tell them that this choice is not being made freely, or in response to some larger, more spiritual call? How can you liberate a woman who doesn't feel imprisoned? And why would you even want to?

All in all, I am absolutely a better person for having had this experience. And if it turns out that next year is our last year here, then I want to embrace these opportunities even further in the coming months. I want to travel the region more; I want to meet people more (hopefully, some Emiratis, so I don't have to go on just wondering about what's going on behind the literal veil); I want to find out what's really at stake for a well-intentioned Jew in the UAE.

Because one day, when we're back in the States, and it wouldn't even *occur* to me to ask a new acquaintance what country she's from, I bet I'm going to miss this place.

Rock On, Kinokuniya Book Store

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 11:27:00 +0000

Just found this book at the Dubai Mall. Got it for the girls. Fun!

p.s. The store was also displaying, in a somewhat prominent spot, "The Invention of The Jewish People," a book written by Israeli historian Shlomo Sand. I initially was pleasantly surprised, but now after having read the Amazon description, and learning that the book's thesis is actually a rejection of the concept of a "Jewish people" per se who have a legitimate entitlement to Israel... maybe not. Hmmm.

Update to the Update.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 08:59:00 +0000

Ok, I was just busted doing some one-sided reporting of my own. After reading my last post, Seacrest commented on the fact that the 18-year-old woman who alleged gang rape was sent to jail for a year while the six men apparently went free.

Not true, and I apologize for my willful omission. I was trying to make a point by highlighting only the woman's punishment, but now I see that I have unfairly characterized the sentence.

One of the men got a one-year jail sentence as well.

Four of the men were fully acquitted of the rape charge. Then, of those four, two of them received 3-month jail sentences for "illegal mixing with the opposite sex."

Finally, two of the six men were fined 5,000 AED (about

US $1400) for "violating public decency."

This is all more than a little mysterious to me still-- I mean, did the court decide that the woman was raped or not? If she willingly participated in non-marital sex, then wasn't she-- as a Muslim woman-- supposed to get life in prison? Or, if she was an unwilling participant, then shouldn't she have gone free? And what of the disparate sentences for the five men-- does that mean that some raped the woman while some watched? What's the difference between "illegal mixing with the opposite sex" and "violating public decency"? Was the man who got the year in prison the only one to actually have had sex with the woman??

Sigh. I guess I still have a lot of learning to do about how things work around here.

I still think it sucks that the woman was sent to jail.

Blaming the Victim.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 26 May 2010 16:58:00 +0000

[I ORIGINALLY WROTE THIS POST ON MAY 26, 2010, BUT NEVER GOT AROUND TO PUTTING IT UP ON THE BLOG.]

Ok, here's another hot button issue that Dubai has me mental about: women who go to the police claiming that they were raped, and then end up BEHIND BARS themselves.

There are 2 news stories on this subject in the papers right now:

First, there's the 18-year-old Emirati girl (Emiratis, you recall, are the "nationals" here who are granted privileged status but are also held to high social standards) who alleges that she was gang-raped by her boyfriend and 5 of his friends in the back of a car. The prosecution charged the 6 boys (4 of whom are Emirati, all of whom are 19) with rape, in part due to the evidence of physical assault that was produced by the woman having undergone tests at the Forensics Unit of the Abu Dhabi Judicial Department.

The defense refuted the charge of gang rape and alleged that the woman had consensual sex with her boyfriend (sex outside of marriage).

Yesterday, with no reason given, the woman went to court and requested that all of her accusations against the defendants be withdrawn.

The charge against *her*, meanwhile, still stands.

According to our newspaper, The National:

"If the prosecution drops the charge of consensual sex, the woman could face a lesser charge related to DECEPTION, which is punishable by SIX MONTHS TO TWO YEARS IN PRISON.

"If found guilty of consensual sex, as a Muslim woman, she would face LASHES and A MAXIMUM SENTENCE OF LIFE IN PRISON."

[emphasis mine, obviously.]

I'll pause for a second to allow that to sink in: Theoretically, an 18-year-old has consensual sex with her boyfriend, who then allows 5 of his friends to come by and gang rape her. She is pressured into dropping the charges... at which point the 6 men go free... while the 18-year-old woman is subjected to LASHES (what century is this??) followed by

LIFE.

IN.

PRISON.

This honestly-- and again, with all due respect-- BOGGLES MY MIND. Could this really be the law of the land I'm living in?

The second news story accompanies the "CABBIE TELLS OF SEDUCTION" headline above. Here, a 24-year-old British woman claims that she was raped in the back seat of a taxi at 4:00 in the morning by the 47-year-old Pakistani cab driver.

The driver's defense is summarized by the first sentence of the article:

"A drunken partygoer allegedly seduced a Dubai taxi driver by ripping off her clothes in his cab and then having sex with him on the back seat."

Adding insult to injury, today that same newspaper published *this* reader's letter:

"I am appalled by the article 'Cabbie Tells of Seduction' and feel there are too many unanswered questions about this case. For example, why did she not have the money to pay for the taxi? Did she feel she was above paying? Why did she not have a key to get into her house? She sounds like a spoilt woman acting like a teenager. She was 24 what did she expect. I am fed up with females who behave badly and their excuse is because they had too much to drink.

My sympathy goes to her parents. My plea though is for the cabbie. Please please listen to what he has to say. Let's have equal justice.

[Signed,] Female Brit"

Arghhhhhhh, I don't even know where to begin. Never mind that this letter was ostensibly written by a fellow British female; did I seriously just read the words, "what did she expect"?? I mean, let's say that the driver is in part telling the truth, and that a completely *WASTED* British girl got into the back of his cab and took off her clothes... In what universe does that constitute CONSENT?

The Dubai universe??

It's a sad commentary that I wouldn't be at *all* surprised if some Dubai court finds this 24-year-old woman guilty of having consensual sex outside of marriage. With an almost-5o-year-old taxi driver she didn't know. And tosses her in jail. But lets the poor, *violated* taxi driver walk.

Bet she's just thanking her lucky stars that she's not "a Muslim woman" right about now.

It's all a bit of madness, no?

* * * * * *

JUNE 15, 2010 *UPDATE*:

Saw it in the paper this morning: Yup, the 18-year-old woman from the first news story is being locked up for one year.

The crime? "Illegal sex."

Well, I guess she should be grateful. Very likely gang raped by 6 men, and she gets only a single year in jail. No lashings or anything!

All things considered, it's actually a bargain.

This School Exercise is Rated PG-13.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 26 May 2010 16:32:00 +0000

Actual conversation that took place between my 5-year-old and me as we were walking out of her school this afternoon:

ME: So how was school?

5-year-old: Good.

ME: What did you do?

5YO: We had a lockdown.

ME: [stopping in tracks and getting down to face kid] What?

5YO: We had a lockdown. But it was only a practice one.

ME: [incapable of disguising the horrified expression on my face] Are you kidding me? WHY did you have a lockdown?

5YO: In case any bad guys came to the school. We practiced lying on the floor so if the bad guys came looking for us, it would look like no one was there. [happily resumes walking to the car]

ME: [horrified, horrified, horrified.]

Um.... does this happen in schools in the USA and I just don't know about it? Because I have to tell you, the idea of my child being taught to lie on the ground, "in case bad guys came looking for her," makes me incredibly anxious. Aren't we still supposed to be lying to our children when they're 5 years old, and telling them that the world is a happy place? Don't we all follow the party line that "bad guys" are just make-believe characters in movies?

More importantly: is the concept of a "lockdown drill" a factor of our living in the often-volatile Middle East, or is it simply a part of the post-Columbine world??

Either way... UGH.

A Slight Contradiction...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 12 May 2010 09:15:00 +0000

Um, I can't hold Daddy's hand while walking through the mall (there's a sign at the entrance forbidding public displays of affection)...

but you can display *this* in the store window?

REALLY, Dubai?

South African Safari Photos

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 09:52:00 +0000

Impossibly amazing adventure. Loved every minute. Here are some of my best pics!

FAMILY UPDATE.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 24 Apr 2010 01:42:00 +0000

Hello gang. Well with our second annual CHILD-FREE mini-holiday right around the corner (African safari!!!), I wanted to touch base with a personal family update in the unlikely event that our plane disappears forever into some wayward volcanic ash. (Note: We are not flying anywhere *near* the volcanic ash. I just like to obsessively predict my own random demise, under the theory that it is in fact very difficult to predict one's own random demise.) (Though I have to say, if we *did* disappear into some wayward volcanic ash, how cool would it be that I told you about it in advance! I'd be famous!) (Though admittedly I'd have bigger problems at that point. But ANYWAY.)

So here's what you might have missed on the home front:

(1) Some additions to the family!

NO, not another child, people. (Though I understand the expectation: Baby is the only one of our children who did *not* get a new sibling on her 18-month-birthday. But hey, we couldn't go on giving humans as gifts forever, kid. Gets expensive.)

The first new addition is actually "Baby Cat" (her real, if pitiful name; we're still working on it), a playful stray kitten whom we adopted from a foster family (there are currently no cat shelters in Dubai despite the massive numbers of strays, shame). No hugely complex justification for adopting another pet at this time... maybe it was just my biological clock demanding something new to mother at that 18-months-after-last-baby mark? Regardless, the kitten has adapted well to her new lavish digs (supposedly she was found abandoned and starving in a vacant building; the other strays now refer to her as "Annie") and spends her days sleeping in the sunshine and using Harry's face as a punching bag. (Hey, Harry, you might have 4 superficial flesh wounds to the head, but at least now you have another cat to talk to, so overall it's a win, right?)

The second new addition was more of a surprise: One evening at bedtime Sushi nonchalantly mentioned, "Alice's sister is coming to Dubai tomorrow." This made my jaw drop, because I have been asking Alice for what feels like years if she was ever planning to move one of her SIX sisters here (lots of families employ two nannies who are cousins, sisters, even mother-daughter pairs). Well, turns out Sushi got the story a *little* wrong-- it's Alice's sister-in-law, not her sister-- but either way, we are suddenly offering temporary (?) asylum to one of Alice's relatives, and it's been really nice. There isn't the psychological drain of monitoring the household dynamics like I had to when it was Alice and Julia, plus we don't have to give up our one spare bedroom (STILL AVAILABLE FOR GUESTS, COME VISIT!) because Alice and her sister-in-law (SIL) (S-I-L... Sil... Sylvia?) have requested to stay in Alice's room together. One bunk bed later and we're in business.

Sylvia is 40 years old (but has the youthful glow of a teenager), is the mother of two boys back in the Philippines (ages 10 and 17), and is wonderful with the girls. Her English is definitely a work in progress, and she has no experience being a housemaid, so for these two reasons (along with all the selfish ones: her arrival a few weeks before our vacation could not have come at a better time) we have offered to have her stay here until she gets on her feet. (Supposedly her decision to show up in Dubai resulted from her husband unexpectedly losing his job in the Philippines; part of me strongly wanted to just be direct and ask, "Well, how much did your husband make in a year?", because the thought of a mother having to leave her children against her will and with little warning is enough to make my heart break; I considered pooling some money and just sending her back home; but worried that this might come off as just about the most patronizing and condescending offer an employer ever made. We'll see.)

Ok, so now we are Daddy, Mommy, PopPop, Sushi, Screamer, Baby, Z-Man, Alice, Sylvia, Harry, and Baby Cat. ahaha this is a long list of characters, no?

(2) Sushi turned 5 last week! and it was a joyous occasion for sure. My beloved friend The Australian pulled out all the stops with her new party planning business, and threw Sushi a Barbie-themed fete that will undoubtedly live on in infamy. All in our back yard: a manicure/pedicure station, hair braiding and coloring and glittering, cupcake decorating, art station, dress-up costumes, a fashion show, an hour of games and dancing with a top-notch kids' entertainer, and of course a giant birthday cake made out of a real Barbie doll. It was such a success that I am still afraid to talk about it for fear of jinxing it. Thank you, The Australian! You are loved and adored, and not just because you will one day give Mindy Weiss a run for her party-planning money!

Also on the Sushi front, with the clock about to run out on her being 4 years old, that kid took the idea of literacy and freaking RAN with it. To say that there was a miraculous transformation in her reading ability is a massive understatement: seemingly overnight she went from struggling to sound out words, to literally picking up almost any book and reading aloud with relative ease. (As PopPop would say, all of a sudden the files just started to DOWNLOAD.) Now if only she could find a reliably available audience... understandably, Screamer and Baby are beginning to tire of this frequent announcement: "Come on, little kids! I will read you a story now!"

But of course we're so thrilled as she continues to tear up her homework and impress the heck out of her teachers at the American school. Yay for Sushi!! (Now if only we could do something about her frightful temper and epic meltdowns.) (But she inherited that stuff from me, so I probably shouldn't call calm, rational Daddy's attention to it any more than necessary.)

(3) Screamer. It makes me happy just writing that. Because for all the times I looked at those 3 baby faces and joked, "Look! We got the same kid 3 times! Same model, just different years!", suddenly it's becoming glaringly obvious that we didn't get the same kid three times at all. Sushi is ALL GORMAN (long-time readers, you'll recall that this is what I *thought* Z-Man was saying with his thick Pakistani accent, when really he was saying "government"; the word GORMAN has now taken on a life of its own to represent ME and my obsession with RULES and ORDER and NOT GETTING ANYONE IN THIS FAMILY THROWN IN DUBAI JAIL) (Daddy is also sometimes accused of being GORMAN, usually on the issue of UAE visas)-- but meanwhile Screamer is the ANTI-GORMAN, an absolute hippie. I don't know if it's the wispy blond hair... or the frequent daydreaming... or the way that her body has somehow remained nymph-like and waif-y and immune to the forces of gravity while both her older and younger sisters have become sturdy and robust. You just can't help looking at her without picturing an imaginary garland of daisies on her head. She's magical.

She's also, potentially, a real ditz. (And I mean that in the most loving way.) The recent reports coming out of Screamer's nursery school are less about her academic prowess than about her mildly disruptive conduct during circle time (for better and for worse, she has found a soulmate-- we'll call her Kissy-- a similarly blond [in every aspect of the word] partner in crime who would ALSO prefer to examine the split ends of her ponytail than commit to lower case letters). But at least for the time being (her spacey facial expressions will be less adorable in high school, no?), we are loving that she is turning into her own chilled out, zoned out, totally groovy kind of person. She's like a benevolent stoner. Already. At age three. You just can't watch her flitting around in her little Screamer world without catching yourself in a smile. In other words, Screamer is over The Wiggles and ready for The Dude.

(4) Baby. Is only weeks away from her second birthday, I can't believe it. She is talking up a storm these days (I'd say about 70% of it is intelligible, even funny!) and has more opinions than one toddler ever really needs to have. She is bossy and loud but also supremely cuddly and clever. Nothing's more adorable than when she gets into a silly mood and methodically marches around the perimeter of the room rattling off baby-talk versions of just about every kid song known to man. ("Trinkle, trinkle, widdle stawr...") Another diva is born!

(5) Daddy. Boy does Daddy travel a lot. Italy, Russia, Maldives, Spain, Germany... and these are just the recent journeys. But he is so completely kicking ass at his job that it would be criminal for me to interfere (though I certainly do try, with an endless supply of guilt trips). In fact, Daddy just got *his* report card (aka, annual performance evaluation), and it was littered with superlatives such as "Most impressive executive in the company" (!!!) and "Extraordinary work ethic." I am so proud of him and so inspired by him.

Furthermore, on top of all this work success, Daddy continues to prove himself to be the *most* devoted father, son-in-law, and husband. He may work around the freaking clock, but somehow he ALWAYS makes the time to get down on the floor to play with the girls either before bedtime or first thing in the morning... *and* to tell my dad all about his latest deals and business conquests... *and* to patiently listen as I unload my stay-at-home-mom related stresses on him (I just celebrated my five-year SAHMom anniversary-- it adds up, people!) until my head is clear enough to face another trying day with the rugrats. Truly, the guy is a saint and he encourages all of us to be a better person than we might otherwise be. Settling down with that man was the best decision I ever made!

(6) PopPop. Still the coolest grandfather there ever was. The iPod, the sleeveless shirts, the deep brown tan, the MUSCLES... is it just me, or is he just a can of hair product removed from GTL at this point?? (That's an embarrassing "Jersey Shore" reference, for those who actually exercise discretion in their television habits.)

And the novelty of PopPop living with us hasn't even begun to wear off for me, even after a year-and-a-half. Last week we had a minor medical emergency-- Screamer dislocated her elbow; in a panic I considered attempting a move I had learned from my pediatric First Aid class in the hopes of sparing us both another traumatizing emergency room experience [this had happened to her twice before, almost 2 years ago]; and miraculously, my medical intervention was a success!-- but I don't think I would have even *attempted* a DIY fix on Screamer's dislocated arm if my dad had not been standing there, 12 inches away, solidly having my back. His being here is an indescribable source of strength and happiness for me. And while he never makes me feel like a little girl... I love that I still do, anyway, when he wraps me in his strong and capable arms.

(7) Z-Man. The big fella of few words but giant heart, much more our family guardian than just Daddy's driver. Curiously, has taken to wearing a carnation pink shirt and lavender wristwatch of late. Still weighs about 300 pounds. To which I say, Amen, brother! Equal rights for all!

(8) Me. Doing pretty well indeed. At the moment am overwhelmed with party planning (Sushi's, and now Baby's in a few weeks) and vacation planning (if only I can get there, I just KNOW I will remember how to relax and have fun!), but am certainly never bored. Am getting excited for our summer visit to the USA, while not necessarily anxious to leave here. Mostly, am just painfully aware that we may never have it this good again (the family and PopPop all living harmoniously together, in this big ol' house, with Alice and Z-Man and now even Sylvia treating us like royalty, despite our genuine protestations)... and I'm trying not to take a single day of it for granted.

Ok, would write more, but my nervous stomach (vacation-related) is now becoming distractingly painful. Must go eat and meditate and remind myself that we have an entire ARMY of people in this house to take care of the kids... THEY WILL BE FINE.

Actually, I think I'll go back to predicting my own random demise. It takes my mind off worrying about the kids. :)

See you on the other side of Africa! xo.

Passover Follow-Up.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 20 Apr 2010 06:24:00 +0000

Hey, look what Daddy brought home from the grocery store on Friday afternoon! (Don't let the baking tray fool you; it had just come out of plastic wrap.) Looks oddly familiar, no?

The label says it's "SPELT BERLINER." Not sure what to make of that. And Google wasn't much help. But there you are. Challah in Dubai. I mean, Spelt Berliner in Dubai. [shrugs]

And They Said It Couldn't Be Done (And By "They" I Mean "I")

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 16:17:00 +0000

Well, if I didn't feel like we were living undercover before, I certainly felt like it on Passover night.

There we were, 38 relative strangers, huddled together in an unfamiliar kitchen listening to a child we'd never met reciting the 4 questions.

Not exactly a family gathering. But in some ways, a more meaningful Jewish holiday than I'd ever experienced before.

We'd heard about it through the sibling of a friend of a friend. The brother of a college classmate of my boy Seacrest had been invited to a seder that was being held in Dubai. Now, I'd never met this brother of the classmate of Seacrest, nor had I ever heard of the hosts. But when the sibling of the friend of my friend emailed us the details, of course Daddy and I quickly RSVP'd that we would attend. I mean, what are the odds that we would receive a *competing* seder invitation this year?

After overcoming just a bit of pre-holiday stress (who knew, when we accepted our assignment of bringing a dessert, that 99% of online Passover recipes would require MATZOH MEAL; thank heavens for kosher meringue) we put on our fancy clothes and Daddy pocketed his dusty old yarmulke and we headed out to an unknown address. When we arrived, Indian neighbors were standing on the sidewalk eyeing the influx of guests suspiciously (or maybe they were eyeing us completely hospitably, and this was just my paranoia talking). Either way, we hurried past with minimal eye contact, trying not to call attention to ourselves.

We entered the house and I was immediately transported back to the front reception hall of every synagogue I'd ever known: the heavily overdone jewelry, the mildly grating nasaly voices (though this time with English and South African accents, which made them vastly more alluring than annoying), the competitively over-aerobicized physiques.

In other words: MY PEEPS!

Conversation quickly turned to our collective relief in meeting one another, and our shared amazement that we had found enough Jews to fill the entire ground floor of someone's home. It felt like we were gathering in a public storm shelter during a hurricane: all of us so glad to see each other, so comforted to see that the other person had also made it through.

"I heard that there are 10,000 Jews in the UAE!" said one admirably optimistic participant. (The rest of us shook our heads and rolled our eyes discretely.) "I think it's more like 100," said a grumpy (and more realistic) skeptic. Someone else did some quick math aloud and announced, "Probably around 1500." The group accepted this number even though it seemed to me a little high, considering that none of us in the room knew any Jew who wasn't there. But okay. 1500 Jews, wow!

Then people started excitedly comparing Jewy experiences much as you would with Sasquatch sightings. "The organic cafe here has matzah!" said one yenta. "And when I went this week, there was only ONE box left." ("OOH, THAT'S A GOOD SIGN," we all chanted in robotic unison.) "MY local supermarket serves something that looks EXACTLY like challah," said a sister yenta, "but *only* on THURSDAYS!" ("OOH!" we all sighed. "THAT'S A GOOD SIGN!") Then there was some talk about the mythological secret synagogue that, according to Dubai legend, Sheikh Mohammed has set up in a private home in order to woo a prominent American businessman to come to the UAE. But alas, no one in attendance had ever seen it themselves. (Not a good sign.) The requisite jokes were further exchanged about how, at the end of the evening, we'd go to leave and the CID (Dubai police) would be patiently waiting outside to escort all of us directly to immigration. Ha ha, the subject of deportation for political insurgence never fails to get a laugh! (nervous laughter, but laughter nonetheless.)

Suddenly someone approached Daddy and said, "Over here. We need you for the minyan. Would be amazing if we could say kiddush. Can't believe we might actually have ten men." (Why ten, you say? Well, for those playing at home, and by that I mean gentiles, and sorry-ass Jews like me who had to look this up on Wikipedia, "It was the firm belief of the sages that wherever 10 Israelites are assembled, either for worship for the study of the Law, the Divine Presence dwells among them." Learn something new every day, my friends.)

So Daddy went off and stood by the front door with nine other Jewish men. Most wore yarmulkes. One wore a fedora. (And good day to you, too, sir!) One guy was very old and white-haired and reminded me of my elderly Jewish grand-uncles who are still doing the Passover thing with great gusto back in Jersey and I got a teeny bit emotional for a second. You don't see a lot of old people here in Dubai. Let alone old Jews. Made me miss my late grandfather, who really got into all this religious stuff. Ah, life.

Not sure exactly what went down during the kiddush (did I mention I'm a sorry-ass Jew? very out of practice.) but the visual was powerful. All the men faced forward and some bowed a little bit and seeing a group of them standing there in their yarmulkes (and fedoras) felt like an act of peaceful revolution.

Then it was time for the seder. I had initially been stunned to see through the open French doors that the tables and chairs were set up in the back yard: were we really going to be reciting Hebrew right out there in the open?? But then our host called everyone's attention and declared, "Let's do the seder right here in the kitchen. There's no need to do it outside."

I felt my eyeballs turn into cartoon spirals as my brain began racing to process all the possible interpretations of "There's no need to do it outside." Did he mean, there's no need to move everyone, when we're already all so comfortable standing around here? Or did he mean, THERE'S NO NEED TO RISK IT, when the neighbors are already standing out there wondering what we're up to?? I'll never know.

At that point, despite the conspicuous presence of those mass-produced paperback Haggadahs that were the cornerstone of every seder I ever attended in the USA, the host-- let's call him Dubai Moses, as he was leading us Jews through the desert-- announced, "The seder is for the children. It's not for the adults. And so, if no one objects, I'm going to do an abbreviated seder that the children will understand, hitting only the highlights. And-- since I'm the first to admit that I'm far from the most frum person here (meaning, religiously observant)-- anyone who would like to jump in is welcome to." No one jumped. So away we went.

For the next ten minutes, Dubai Moses spoke directly to the 6 tweens and 3 infants in attendance (our kids were not there; why take chances with their lives and/or mess up the bedtime schedule, thought neurotic me), flipping through the Haggadah and remarking on only the most critical aspects of the story. I'm of course paraphrasing, but in relevant part what Dubai Moses said was this:

"A long long time ago, the Jews were slaves in Egypt. They were forced to work outside in the heat from before the sun came up to after the sun went down. How do you think you would feel if you were a slave? Sad? Tired? Depressed? It's a lot like the construction workers that you see on the buses here in Dubai going back and forth between their work camps. You see? It's happening all over again."

Yikes. This made me uncomfortable. Because the ubiquitous sight of dark-skinned construction workers perpetually toiling in the half-built streets of Dubai, like ants or bees or Doozers under the blazing sun, already causes me emotional distress. And now, the analogy laid out so plainly like this-- where the Indian and Pakistani construction workers are the modern-day slaves of the Passover story-- makes *us* the heartless Egyptians who sit around in our fancy homes heartlessly reaping the benefits of their blood and sweat and labor. You know, the Bad Guys. Which of course we are but what can I do about it?? (A blog for another day, methinks.)

So anyway, Dubai Moses tells the kids that the Jews were slaves and so are the construction workers and then I zone out in self-torment and then the next thing I know someone's handing out masks. (Note to self: Research why I was wearing a cat mask and the guy next to me was wearing a Torah scroll mask with a crown on it and the guy next to him was wearing one that simply said BOILS in block letters. Was there a kitty cat plague I don't know about, or were the hosts just making due with whatever they had on hand?)

Then Dubai Moses got to the part of the story where the Jews put a mark on their door so that the Angel of Death would pass over (get it? passover?) their houses in its search for Egyptian firstborn children. He noted, "This is kind of like mezuzahs, which we don't do here in Dubai." (Second note to self: I'm pretty sure that mezuzahs have nothing to do with the Passover marks on the doors, which I think was actually blood, and that Dubai Moses was just getting in a little dig at the UAE while he had a sympathetic audience. But look into this as well.)

Finally Dubai Moses called his 9-year-old daughter to the front of the kitchen and asked her to recite the 4 questions. Which she did, eloquently and confidently and melodiously. The rest of us murmured along at the chorus (if you can call it that, not sure, no disrespect intended). Daddy later told me that for him this was the most moving part of the evening: A child, innocently leading a room full of adults, in a Hebrew prayer, on Arab soil. It's unlikely the kid had any real sense of the tiny act of heroism she was performing.

And just like that, the seder was over. There was no singing, there was no discussion of the 4 sons (cue that corny tune of "My Darlin' Clementine"), there was no plate onto which I could put 10 drops with my pinkie. But there was-- more importantly-- miniature glasses of wine passed between husbands and wives, actual matzah (brought into the country by one of the seder attendees, who is a pilot for Emirates), and a whole room of Jews. The company of whom I have missed so, so much.

The dinner experience was similarly fulfilling (especially the matzoh ball soup, yahoo!). We sat outside in Dubai Moses's back yard under a full moon and made easy conversation with complete strangers. Just as Dubai Moses had opened his home to all of us, sight unseen. And that's one of my favorite things about the Jews: even if we've never met, we're looking out for each other; we're all in the same boat so why bother with the formalities.

Most of the Jews that night were from England or South Africa. There were two other Americans besides us (my hookup included). Lots of people were talking about a dinner a bunch of them attended a few months back that was hosted at a Dubai hotel by some American Zionist organization (!!!!!). (Side note: You have to have some serious balls to show up at a pro-Israel event here. It's the inverse of laying low. I don't think I could do it.) One attendee offered to take me to the off-the-beaten path marketplaces. Another offered to give me acupuncture. Another hustled Daddy for his business card. (Hey now, networking is a valid component of the Jewish community, too.)

Then Dubai Moses, who was sitting at our table, described how his 9-year-old is dealing with some anti-Semitism at her school. Which also happens to be SUSHI'S SCHOOL, the American school, gulp. Dubai Moses said that it was just one kid spouting off some anti-Semitic remarks that he had certainly heard at home, and that while that his daughter's classmates do not know that she's Jewish, her teachers do (we have the same arrangement with Sushi's teacher) and have been consulted about the problem. I expected Dubai Moses to be more upset about it, but instead he said, "You know what? It's fine. Because now when we go back to South Africa, my daughter will be able to defend the Arab point of view." Very diplomatic of him, no? And we compared notes on how our eyes have been opened to the way that the Arab world sees Jews, and Israel, and how neither the pro-Arab world nor the pro-Israel world gets the straight story from their media.

(Was initially a little stressed about anti-Semitism at Sushi's school, where she proudly declared her allegiance to HANUKKAH! on the playground this past December, but then remembered that there were swastikas painted on lockers at my New Jersey middle school last year, and conceded that no place on earth is utterly devoid of anti-Semitism, unfortunately.)

The evening concluded with a furious exchange of mobile numbers and the promise to get together again soon. I couldn't help wonder if someone was going to initiate us into a secret Jewish handshake before we dispersed (and was a little disappointed when no one did). But even without the handshake, it was a truly memorable experience and I will be forever grateful to Dubai Moses and Dubai Moses's wife (did Moses have a wife? my sorry-ass-iness rears its ugly head again, we'll call her Mosette for now) for providing me with a night's worth of respite after a year and a half of spiritually wandering through the desert.

A final thought about my first Passover seder in Dubai. I'm not sure God was there. Or, if he was there, I didn't notice. Now, in all fairness, I'm an atheist, so maybe he was indeed hanging around, checking in with all the faithful, and just didn't reveal himself to me out of spite. And he's entitled to that, by all means, fair is fair. My point is just that there wasn't a whole lot of praying, or discussion of the Almighty, or that kind of thing. It just seemed like all of us Dubai Jews had showed up at that seder seeking not divine interaction, but human connection.

Just some confirmation that we weren't alone.

(WHICH IS WHAT *I* AM HERE FOR, YOU IDIOT!! shouts God into my deaf ears.) (But again, a blog for another day.)

The gentleman giving the farewell toast to Dubai Moses and Mosette concluded his remarks with, "Next year in Dubai!" And while I perhaps wouldn't go *that* far... the classic "Next year in Jerusalem!" has a certain enduring ring to it... suddenly I'm thinking that another Passover here in the UAE might not be *quite* so bad. :)

All Knocked Up and Nowhere to Go

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 05:06:00 +0000

Dubai has a problem.

And lately, it's been appearing on the doorsteps of mosques all over the emirate.

Abandoned babies.

In a nutshell, if you should find yourself pregnant and unmarried in Dubai, you might as well get your nails done, have a nice meal, and then just stroll right on over to the jail. You'd save yourself a lot of trouble, cuz that's where you're going to end up eventually.

Let me list for you a few of the things that are illegal here in Dubai (all of which could land you behind bars):

- sex outside of marriage

- having a baby outside of marriage (supposedly, maternity wards will not treat a person who cannot produce a marriage certificate)

- abortion

- adoption (other than by Emirati families, which I guess is pretty rare, especially when it seems that most of the abandoned babies are of Filipino or Indian descent)

- abandonment of a child

- exiting the country without the consent of your sponsor

Got that? In other words, if you are, say, an unmarried Filipino housemaid who "falls pregnant," as they say round these parts, you: (a) can't keep the baby; (b) can't terminate the pregnancy; (c) can't have the baby and give it up for adoption; (d) can't have the baby and leave it on someone's doorstep (or if you do, they will hunt you down and THEN put you in jail); and (e) can't flee the country. Your only feasible option, if you want to remain out among the free world, is to fashion a time machine, go back to the night when the baby was conceived, and decide to go see a movie instead.

From recent events it looks like an awful lot of people have been choosing option (d), and taking their chances on life on the lam. In the past 10 weeks alone, 5 babies have been abandoned in Dubai, most near mosques, a few in the seasonal torrential downpours. (Some luck!, thinks the baby left in a box under the pouring rain. I live in a country where there is significant rain only 10 days a year, and TODAY they have to abandon me??)

Further illustrating Dubai's baby problem is the story presently going around about a Muslim woman of American origin who woke up to discover a Filipino baby on her doorstep a few years back. Though she already had four children of her own, she took the baby in and raised him as her son for five years (she could not technically adopt him, as only Emiratis are permitted to adopt). When the time came that she needed to travel with her family recently, she attempted to register the child for a passport... at which point she was arrested for child trafficking.

So what's up with Dubai not giving women any LEEWAY on the knocked up front?

I did a teeny bit of research and found this blurb from Gulf News:

According to Al Qubaisi, the entire system rests on the importance of the family name in the Muslim world.

"In pre-Islanic times adoption was common and the child would take the name of the new family and was considered to be a birth child," he explained.

"However, after the advent of Islam, this was abandoned as the Quran said that each child should have the name of their original father, because the main social base in Islam is the credibility of ancestry. Thus adoption was replaced by fostering a child (kafala) . . . This is considered to be a form of great worship in Islam."

Accordingly, even though the authorities will take in abandoned babies and arrange for foster care, the emphasis remains on tracking down the birth parents (who will then probably be put directly in jail, but hey, at least then we know the kid's last name).

Which reminds me, this hard-line emphasis on ancestry has recently made headline news in another context: frozen embryos.

On February 23, 2010, a front-page newspaper headline warned that, in accordance with a new law passed last year, thousands of frozen embryos are about to be destroyed. The paper urged any families with frozen embryos here (it is estimated that 10,000 have been stored in the UAE since 1995) make immediate arrangements for the relocation of their fertilized eggs.

The article explained,

"The decision to ban the use of stored embryos was made last year by the National Federal Council after concerns were raised by religious leaders that family lineage could be called into question if embryos were mixed up."

[SIDEBAR: WITH ALL DUE RESPECT, DUBAI, WHY IS IT OK TO DESTROY THOUSANDS OF FROZEN EMBRYOS (which implies that life does not begin at conception, otherwise this would be mass murder), BUT IT IS *NOT* OKAY TO GET A FIRST TRIMESTER ABORTION? Ummmm......]

Just to put a button on the grim prospects facing an unmarried woman who gets pregnant here in Dubai, check out this response I found at answers.Yahoo.com to a person asking where an unmarried friend can get an abortion in the UAE:

"OH GOD,

Becoming pregnant in the UAE unmarried is ILLEGAL! She will end up in jail after she gives birth. Her baby will be taken away from her. She will go to jail without a trial and will spend 3-6 year in prison and then be deported. She will also not have access to her child. I don't know what will happen to her baby but she won't be able to see it ever again. I know this sounds sick, but this is only in the UAE. Other Arab countries allow abortion up to the third trimester, just like in the West, except for the UAE.

My advice? Let your friend IMMEDIATELY contact her country's consulate in Dubai or go to her country's embassy in Abu Dhabi and seek protection. If it happened recently, then she should definitely get the hell out of Dubai before she goes to jail. She should just give birth to her child in her country and then she can go back to Dubai, although they might ask her how she has a baby and she's no married, might cause more trouble.

Want the best advice? She should leave the UAE immediately and stay in her country until she gives birth. If she plans on returning to the UAE, then she should contact the UAE embassy in her country and ask them with regards to their interior ministry's rules on living and working in the UAE with a child who has no father.

Tell her to get out now!

PS: If all fails, and she cannot leave the UAE, then I would suggest she gets married to a friend until she gives birth and then she could seek divorce from her friend. I hope this helps, please understand that what she has done is a serious crime! I wish her all the best, email me if you need more help."

Talk about being screwed.

"Forbidden Love"... and Other Unpleasant Euphemisms for Gay

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 12:27:00 +0000

Ok, forget for a minute the unintentional Danny Gokey reference with the heart hands.

This is the front page of a tabloid-y newspaper that appears on our doorstep every weekend.

It bummed me out. With all due respect.

Here are a few excerpts from the accompanying article:

"A shocking trend is sweeping across educational institutions in the UAE. It's called same-sex relationships and it's worrying officials and parents to no end."

"[An] Emirati woman . . . had to deal with the demon on a personal level . . . when her 16-year-old daughter fell for an Indian girl . . . . 'I feared that my kids would become homosexual so I gave them in the custody of their father,' she recalls."

"[A young woman] shocked television audiences across the nation when she openly spoke of her relationship with another girl . . . and expressed the desire to marry her and have children with her through artificial insemination. 'I love my girlfriend and I want to have children with her.'"

"Homosexuality is prohibited in the UAE and violators face stiff punishment. Authorities are trying to curb deviant behavior, to better reflect traditional conservative laws of the UAE. Last year the Ministry of Social Affairs launched an awareness campaign called Excuse Me, I Am A Girl . . . . Meant to tackle lesbian-related issues, the campaign included a series of workshops, TV programs and lectures at universities and schools . . . . "

"Dr. X said there were several factors responsible for the upswing in same-sex relationships. 'Some theories suggest that gender identity disorder, often overlooked by parents and sometimes promoted by discriminating between genders within the family, is a key factor.' Other possible contributing factors, she said, could include being the only girl among male siblings, absence of a father figure and sexual assault."

The article went on to blurb some "case studies," all of which concluded with something like, "X is receiving treatment" or "X refused treatment":

"X, 23, . . . married after having several relationships with girls at the university. X could not prevent her marriage from collapsing as she continued lusting after women. She still visits her girlfriends at the university and is not seeking treatment."

"X, 16, started lesbian relations at age 14, lost her virginity with her girlfriend at age 16. She wants to receive treatment, but is afraid her family and other people will find out about her. She described how they used instruments and watched pornographic films bought from Chinese vendors."

"X [male, no age given] sexually harassed by his housemaid turns to other boys to satisfy his desire that was turned on at a very young age."

"X suffers hormone disorder due to neglect by family, which leads her towards same-sex activities."

There was virtually no mention of sexual orientation as being something that a person is perhaps born with, apart from this one sideways reference:

"[A psychiatrist] contended that some girls need a specialist therapist and that the issue falls under the purview of medical science and therefore does not need interference from religious scholars."

And I'd be remiss if I didn't detail the main graphic of the article, which depicts the 3 supposed "types" of lesbians (brace yourself, it's a little SNL-skit-y):

(1) "The Boya": the "sexual delinquent" who takes on "the boy's role";

(2) "The Tomboy": the boyish female who does not act on her impulses; and

(3) "The Weaker Girl": "the weaker, beautiful girl who gets lured by the first type."

(It really says that. She may be weak and susceptible to deviant sexual advances, but at least she's pretty. In every instance. Otherwise, why would a sexual deviant bother making a move on her?)

The article then ends with the editor's note: "Tell us what you think. How can parents protect their daughters from falling prey to this trend?"

So. Hmmm. Where do I go with this.

Well let me say at the outset that I respect the UAE, I am immensely grateful to be allowed to reside here for however long we do, and I am absolutely not suggesting that the Western outlook is universally the superior way of viewing the world. I do not believe in a normative morality and I am not trying to condemn a group of people who are just trying, in earnest, to honor their religious beliefs.

But. I also happen to believe that being gay is not a choice.

Therefore, to see homosexuality described in the year 2010 as "a demon," or as "deviant behavior" that requires "treatment," makes me cringe. And the amount of sheer misinformation makes me sad. Because an article like this only gives new life to the ancient notion that gays should be burned at the stake, lest their malignant condition spread to other, healthy people. NOT that these attitudes are without a voice in my own country; I would never be so ignorant as to suggest that the USA is all that more evolved in its acceptance of gay relationships (see, i.e., Prop 8). Having spent most of my life in the neighborhoods of New York, Los Angeles, and Miami, however, it still surprises me to see gay people being publicly disparaged in such express and unapologetic terms.

One silver lining is that, while technically homosexuality is illegal, I have heard from numerous sources that there is a lively underground gay scene in Dubai. Which encourages me, because it means that the government has not completely silenced the community here. I am further comforted whenever I am out and about and have observed a male (non-Arab) couple who are obviously in a romantic relationship with each other: it suggests that perhaps the UAE's bark is worse than its bite... ?

You gotta hand it to those guys, and the lesbians in the article above who "refuse treatment," and any gay people who voluntarily spend time in the UAE. I mean, I may be a Jew in a Muslim country (yes, I think I'm using the word now, throwing caution to the wind!, thank you for your concern), but at least I can and do keep my religious identity a secret from people on the street.

To the effeminate tourist who is boldly sashaying through the Mall of the Emirates, however: I tip my hat to you, sir. May you go in peace. And impeccable style.

* * * *

Post Script. PopPop got hit on at the mall today by a guy in full Muslim dress. So there you are. :)

Flat Stanley Comes to Dubai!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 17:01:00 +0000

Hi there.

First, let's just pretend you're not mad at me, and allow me get this little piece of business out of the way:

We have had a Flat Stanley come visit us here in Dubai! If you're unfamiliar with the concept: Flat Stanley is a popular elementary school project in which a "flattened" little boy gets mailed around the world taking pictures of his adventures. This Stanley comes to us courtesy of the child of my own best friend from when I was seven years old, which amuses me to no end. It's been a hoot showing him around (please note, however, I am not hereby issuing an open invitation for all other Flat Stanleys in the world to come visit me; it requires a lot of driving around to entertain him properly and I'm not sure that my enthusiasm could be sustained for a second or third tour of duty). Above are a few of my favorite pics so far:

(1) Stanley in front of the tallest building in the world (Burj Khalifa, formerly known as Burj Dubai) (a month ago I wanted to blog about the travesty of that name change, but was and still am afraid that doing so might get me kicked out of the country);

(2) Stanley posing with some Dubai residents who expressed interest in his escapades;

(3) Stanley pretending he's a part of Sheikh Mohammed's portrait (and probably risking jail time for the prank);

(4) Stanley and a snowman at Ski Dubai; and

(5) Stanely with some oversize Middle Eastern cartoon characters at the toy store. You won't see those guys at Disney. Fun!

Ok... now for the less fun part...

I'm really sorry that I have allowed this blog to fall into disrepair. To tell you that I feel guilty about it, every day, is an understatement. It's like I invited you to a party and then left halfway through.

I can only make these arguments in my defense. One: Three times in the past month I have tried to upload homemade videos only to find that the files were too large or something like that. After a few attempts I got frustrated and logged off. Two: I have been experimenting with channeling my creative energies into making an account of my mothering experience, so any free time I've had has been going there. Three: I bought the first season of Nurse Jackie on DVD. It's good tv, people. And lastly, four: There's just not all that much to talk about right now.

Maybe I made the scope of this blog too narrow, too expat-in-Dubai-specific. Or maybe I've just finally gotten acclimated, so that few things strike me as particularly blog-worthy these days. Or, maybe I'm just afraid of boring you.

The truth of it is this: We are doing well here in Dubai. On all levels, really: On a material level, I've got my minivan of choice, the kids finally have the outdoor trampoline they've been drooling over, and heck-- we've even got our USA Tivo working here (thank you, brilliant Slingbox invention, for routing it through our internet connection!!). On a logistical level, all 3 girls are happy in their schools (knock wood), Daddy remains busy and challenged by his job (as I write this, he's somewhere in Russia), and PopPop and I have figured out how to take shifts with the car so that neither of us gets stranded anywhere (him: the gym or the beach, me: the mall or the supermarket). And on an emotional level, I think all six of us have come to feel like this is, albeit temporarily, our home. Which is saying a lot, considering the depths and nature of my preconceptions about this place.

I suppose another compelling reason for my silence is that, much to my own surprise, it has become entirely possible to close my eyes and pretend that I'm back in the United States. If I want TGI Fridays, or Borders books, or heaven knows, Starbucks, I now know where each of them is. If I want to see a movie, the major ones come to our theaters. If Sushi misses her nursery school boyfriend, we Skype him (although Skype is supposedly illegal here, yikes). Furthermore, I can no longer deny how truly segregated the population really is here, as between the locals and the expats. More so than I even *wanted* it to be: I had certainly hoped that, after a year here, I would have made at least one Emirati friend-- someone who could provide me with the honest scoop about Muslim culture, and its treatment of women, and whether I actually have anything to be afraid of as a you-know-what. But no. The closest thing I have to a Muslim friend is Baby's teacher, who wears a headscarf along with her ripped jeans, and she's hardly an Emirati. The reality is that the expats are strongly encouraged to stay in our little expat universe of Brits and Americans and Germans and Italians and Australians... where we eat at our familiar chain restaurants and shop at our familiar chain stores... whilst the local Arab population does its own familiar things. Which makes for ease of relocation but not so much for good blogging.

So if you were worrying about us, please don't. I mean, I know I kicked and screamed about coming here, and I thought I would be counting down the days until our return to the USA... but I was wrong about a lot of things. I am enjoying our adventure here much, much more than I'd planned (I promise by that I am not referring ONLY to the joys of a nanny/housekeeper living with us, though having Alice around truly is a ridiculous luxury and I am grateful for every single minute of her time), and I have been genuinely inspired by our current membership in an authentic international community (in Sushi's pre-K class of 20 students, there are 14 different countries represented). Also, for all the noise I constantly make about being kicked out of the country or feeling like we are living in hiding, the fact remains that, to date, not one of us has ever felt legitimately threatened here, either by the authorities *or* the locals (knock wood, again) (and make that a big knock, wouldja?).

And so, provided that the region continues to enjoy relative peace (PLEASE don't do anything stupid, Iran!!!), I think we will just keep on living our quiet little existence. Our quiet little existence in a mansion. In the Middle East. As Jews. On Muslim turf. That's right: Home. :)

I leave you with a YouTube video of the Burj Khalifa's opening ceremony. We were there; it was rad. Skip to minute 9 if you're the instant gratification type.

xo.

Fantastic video!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 16:43:00 +0000

Room with a view: Dubai timelapse tests from Atlantis hotel from Philip Bloom on Vimeo.

Dubai: Still Standing!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 18:35:00 +0000

First off, did this magazine cover give anyone-- OTHER THAN ME-- a freaking heart attack???

(Thankfully, the story was about someone else, meaning that the anonymity of yours truly is still intact... for now... !)

Second, I'm genuinely sorry that I haven't written in so long. It's not that I don't think about you-- I do!-- it's just that I've made the scope of this blog so limited (i.e., our family's "adventures" in Dubai) that it doesn't lend itself to philosophical diatribes about our rather boring daily existence. This realization has inspired me to perhaps start *another* blog, the focus of which would be our rather boring daily existence... but in the meantime, I apologize again for the lack of Dubai updates. If nothing else, you can take comfort in the fact that no news is good news (cuz lord knows if there was any trouble brewing, I'd be whining to you guys about it).

Third... heard anything about Dubai lately?

Lots of friends have been emailing to ask whether the recently sensationalized Dubai debt situation is affecting us, and how it is being spun over here.

Well, I can’t speak for Daddy, and I’m sure he could explain more eloquently the impact that the Dubai World debt "restructuring" is having on his business prospects, if any. But as far as I can tell, the impact has been minimal on us, for two reasons. One, Daddy’s job is based not out of Dubai, but Abu Dhabi, which has a far more stable financial foundation; and two, the news as it has been described in our local newspapers presents a slightly more ambiguous-- or even optimistic?-- picture than what has been presented to the world at large. Not only is the restructuring being couched in less certain terms (as in, "we as UAE journalists don't know whether Dubai World actually *cannot* pay its debt at this time, or is merely *postponing* debt repayment in order to ultimately make a greater return on the investment"), but also, we are being reminded that it is not the government *itself* which is ostensibly out of money, but merely one huge project in which the government is a part-owner.

That said, if it’s even partly true that Dubai has run out of money, and that at least for now the fairy tale has come to an end, then it’s very bad news indeed for the already-fractured skyline of this city. Everywhere you look, there are half-built skyscrapers and inanimate cranes and enormous craters that have been dug out of the sides of highways, all of which could very well remain frozen in time like this... forever? The omnipresent construction zones and orange cones and scaffolding and affiliated chaos is one of my least favorite things about living here, and the idea that the city might be paralyzed in this half-formed state is downright depressing. Driving on the disjointed roads is perilous to say the least, and at this point, I have given up on hoping for street signs and just hope for pavement instead. So in this regard, yes, I guess the debt "crisis" is impacting us, but thankfully, in only superficial ways as far as I can tell.

[Note to Daddy: It's entirely possible that the Dubai debt crisis is having a huge impact on us financially, and that you have told me about it at length. If this is the case, I'm sorry, I don't think I retained any of that information, I blame the children, any conversations that take place after 8pm are likely to result in your simply talking to yourself while my eyes glaze over and my thoughts drift to some version of "Where did it all go wrong?" as I mentally inventory the children's various misdeeds of the concluding day. Apologies all around. Do tell me again, but preferably not in the comments section of the blog. Email would be best, as I could then reread it in the freshness of morning, and I will amend the blog accordingly.]

What else has been happening. Well, a couple of people asked me about the recently celebrated Eid holiday, but I don’t really have much to say about that, because it only substantively manifested itself in our world insofar as the schools were closed for a week (the Eid holiday coincided with UAE’s National Day, so in total the kids were home for 10 days, woohoo). Well wait, we did traipse out to the Marina Walk to check out the National Day activities one night, but it was so crowded in the temporary "Heritage Village" construct that we just took a few pictures of a growly camel and left. PopPop and I also took Sushi and Screamer to a National Day parade, but again, it was only minimally noteworthy (Sushi saw her life flash before her eyes when we realized—too late—that we were standing right next to the pyrotechnic tent; poor skittish little thing that she is, I fear that from this day forward, the mere sight of a bandleader baton will trigger her PTSD).

One nice recent event was Thanksgiving: unlike last year, when at the end of November we were only 1 week into our Dubai adventure and were far too overwhelmed to be bothered with a turkey dinner, this year we properly celebrated at our house with The Australian and her gorgeous family (her idea! otherwise we might have just ignored it for a second year in a row). It was particularly lovely because, as I explained to Mr. & Mrs. Australian and their two angelic daughters in a toast, we didn’t do Thanksgiving last year because it is a holiday meant to be shared with extended family; and whereas last year we had no extended family in Dubai, this year, thanks to them, we do. Mr. Australian did a stunning job with his very first turkey, and Daddy single-handedly cooked just about everything else, so cheers to both men. (Hey, I was responsible for decorations and general ambience, which is no small feat. Have you ever tried to iTunes-ify an entire holiday event from scratch? These playlists don’t write themselves, people!)

What else. Well, we were exceedingly proud that Sushi was selected by her teacher to be one of only three presenters at their "Winter Performance," and even though she was literally trembling with nerves at the time (she later said, "I knew I was scared because I had goosebumps"), she delivered her line perfectly. If she’s inherited any of her parents’ overly-theatrical DNA, it will hopefully be the first in a long line of starring roles. J

[A note about the Winter Performance: Boy, they’re not kidding around with this Christmas thing at the American school. I mean, thankfully, I didn't hear any discussion of Jesus himself in the lessons, but wow, they really hammered the kids with Christmas trees and Christmas carols and Santa Claus (they even visited a PTA-sponsored "Santa’s Grotto" in the front lobby, where kids had the option of having their photo taken with Santa) (Sushi didn't, and yet I still saw her eyes light up with glee when all the teachers started screaming, "Santa's here!" like groupies, which broke my heart for the kid a little bit). The three songs Sushi’s class sang at the performance were "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," "Jingle Bells," and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." And even though I privately mentioned to Sushi’s teacher that we aren't, ahem, Christian—and she received the news with respectful passivity ("That *shouldn’t* be a problem here in the American school..."), I also haven’t heard any overly inclusive messages yet. It's ok, though; Sushi and Screamer seem to be fine with the idea that Christmas is a holiday celebrated by other people just like Ramadan and Eid are... and with Alice and Z-Man in the house, we have built-in recipients for all such holiday-specific school-sponsored crafts. Still, I never expected that a Christmas onslaught would be a problem I'd face here in Dubai...!]

Finally, if anyone's wondering why I am not posting anything specifically about the Festival of Tights (shout out to those of you who were reading this a year ago!), it's because it hasn't really gotten started yet. I mean, sure, the holiday has already come and gone in the real world, but here in Dubai, where I think we're just about the only News (second shout out!), we can set the Newish calendar however we like. And Mommy? She likes the Festival of Tights to take place smack dab in the middle of school break, and for the schmandle lighting to be a sunrise ritual instead of a sunset one (all the better for toy-enjoyment, methinks). So check back in a few days to see how the all the latke-induced shenanigans all went down... xoxo!

The Grand Mosque, Abu Dhabi

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 09:05:00 +0000

Just went on a tour of the Grand Mosque in Abu Dhabi with some fabulous visiting friends (holla, J & J!). Above are my photos (which of course don't do the breathtaking architecture justice), and below are some blurbs about the mosque that I am lifting from www.VisitAbuDhabi.ae. Enjoy!

"The Sheikh Zayed Bin Sultan Al Nahyan Mosque, popularly called Grand Mosque by local residents, is seen as a “globally unifying” landmark from its conception to completion, bringing together designers, features, materials and suppliers from nearly every corner of the globe: Italy, Germany, Morocco, India, Turkey, Iran, China, Greece and the UAE.

"The Mosque’s initial architectural design was Moroccan, but it evolved to include many global features, including exterior walls that are of traditional Turkish design. Natural materials were chosen for its design and construction, which include marble, stone, gold, semi-precious stones, crystals and ceramics.

"The Sheikh Zayed Bin Sultan Al Nahyan Mosque features 80 domes all decorated with white marble. The main dome’s outer shell measures 32.7 metres in diameter and stands 70 metres high from the inside and 85 metres from the outside - the largest of its kind, according to the Turkey Research Centre for Islamic History and Culture.

"The Mosque has 1,096 columns in its exterior and 96 columns in the main prayer hall which are embedded with more than 20,000 handmade marble panels encrusted with semi-precious stones, including lapis lazuli, red agate, amethyst, abalone shell and mother of pearl. Furthermore, beautiful minarets standing 107 metres are built on the four corners of the Mosque.

"Artifical lakes, totaling 7,874 square metres and laden with dark tiles, surround the Mosque, whilst coloured floral marble and mosaics pave the 17,000 square metre courtyard. The pools reflect the Mosque’s spectacular image, which becomes even more resplendent at night.

"An equally impressive interior design complements the Mosque’s awesome exterior. Italian white marble and inlaid floral designs adorn the prayer halls and the Mosque’s interior walls have decorative 24 carat gold-glass mosaic features. The main prayer hall also features the world’s largest hand-woven Persian carpet (7,119 square metres).

"Furthermore the Mosque features seven 24-carat gold-plated chandeliers which were imported from Germany, all designed with thousands of Swarovski crystals. The largest of these chandeliers, which hangs from the main dome of the Mosque, is considered the biggest in the world; it measures 10 metres in diameter, 15 metres in height, and eight-to-nine tonnes in weight.

"The Qibla wall, on the other hand, is 23 metres high and 50 metres wide, and is subtly decorated so as not to distract worshippers from prayer. The 99 names (qualities) of Allah are featured on the Qibla wall using traditional Kufi calligraphy and are subtly back-illuminated using fibre-optic lighting. Twenty-four carat gold, gold leaf and gold glass mosaic were also used in the mehrab (the niche found in the middle of the Qibla wall) and the crescents topping the domes.

"The Mosque has 80 Iznikpanels - highly decorated ceramic tiles popular in the 16th century - which feature distinctly in Istanbul’s imperial and religious buildings. Traditionally hand-crafted, each tile was designed by Turkish calligrapher Othman Agha. Three calligraphy styles - Naskhi, Thuloth and Kufi – are used throughout the mosque and were drafted by Mohammed Mendi (UAE), Farouk Haddad (Syria) and Mohammed Allam (Jordan). The Mosque can accommodate up to 40,960 worshippers from its prayer halls and courtyard."

Movies, as The Good Lord Intended Them.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 16:45:00 +0000

So after being a loyal patron of movies for about 35 years now, I finally figured out how films are *supposed* to be watched:

in GOLD CLASS, of course! (I now shudder to think of the cumulative years I have wasted sitting in fold-up, craptastic, traditional movie theater seats with my feet stuck to the soda on the floor, ick.)

Yes, folks, the local film establishments can kiss me and my semi-steady business goodbye: I have been indoctrinated into a higher level of moviegoing experience, and this popcorn-lovin' girl ain't ever going back.

Welcome to GOLD CLASS seating, courtesy of Dubai's Mall of the Emirates. Last night Daddy and I escaped (the near-constant din of some child or other's discontent) to catch a showing of Michael Jackson's "This Is It," and while the movie itself was excellent, I might have been able to sit through 2 hours of test pattern and still emerge just as exuberant.

Picture it:

Separate entrance (automatic glass doors, boldly announcing the crossover into GOLD CLASS to keep any riffraff at bay);

Pre-movie foyer (much like the first class lounge at an airport, where perhaps one can discuss one's expectations for the upcoming film) (or, in my case, go to my "happy place" and try to stave off the onset of a tantrum-induced headache) (yeah, it was MY tantrum, so what);

Smartly attired attendants at the private concession stand (though it can hardly be described as a "concession stand," due to the...)

Full dinner menu (!!!) (I ordered a chicken caesar salad, which was served to me in the movie theater);

Assigned seats (yet with only 40 chairs in the full-size cinema, it was impossible to have a less-than-perfect view of the screen);

Oversized, individual, leather reclining sofas (full range of movement from upright to bed-like) (yes, someone too-predictably fell asleep and was loudly snoring in the second row, the seats were *that* comfortable);

Blankets (I suspect that they intentionally made it chilly in there, just so they could show off the amenities);

And-- the pièce de résistance-- a private call button to summon the waitstaff for any and all unmet movie-related needs during the show.

Seriously, it was cinematic *heaven*.

And no matter that it cost more than triple a standard ticket (100 AED versus 30 AED, which is about $28 vs. $8). Can you even *put* a price on 2 hours of uninterrupted escapism in a giant La-Z-Boy chair?

So you can have your day spas, your facials, your yoga... Mommy has found a new way to pamper herself. And with Baby becoming more opinionated every minute, Sushi regressing into tears every time things don't go her way, and Screamer taking it upon herself to unapologetically swipe any item of interest from any unsuspecting sibling, it couldn't have happened to me at a better time. xo.

p.s. A gratuitous note about "This Is It": I never considered myself a *huge* Michael Jackson fan, and kinda wrote him off as just another tabloid casualty after the horrible molestation allegations eclipsed his existence for a while. But I have to say, I sobbed intermittently throughout this entire movie. The combination of Michael's still-spectacular musical gift (I can no longer squeak out the tunes I sang in college, whereas here's this 50-year-old guy doing pitch-perfect, brilliantly choreographed renditions of songs spanning his entire lifetime)... plus the jaw-dropping spectacle of his concert's planned theatrical and special effects... plus the audience's knowledge that this man only had 9 weeks, 8 weeks... 2 weeks left to live-- while he himself had no idea-- put a lump in my throat that just wouldn't quit. Michael Jackson still had so much life to deliver unto his audiences, and this world is a little less magical due to his untimely death. If you haven't seen this film already, please do.

I promise you won't need a Gold Class ticket to leave the theater feeling inspired. :)