Category Archives: Dubai

Travel widow: The five-day trip

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Guess who?

Guess who?

I’m often asked: “Is your husband away a lot?” The truth is, he’s home a lot more than most husbands who work 9-6 plus over-time and weekends. But, of course, the nature of his job means that every time he does leave, it’s for an overseas trip of varying lengths.

His favourite jollies jaunts are to Europe – about seven hours there and back, two days away in total and a European city, such as Munich or Paris, at his disposal (what’s not to like?). I think he rather enjoys Bangkok too (not too much I hope) and, naturally, he loves returning to his home country, the States.

This week, he’s on a five-day trip to Australia and New Zealand. I’ve been with him on this one, and so I know the 14-hour journey to Sydney, the onward flight to Auckland and the jet lag are tough. But, the hardest thing, in my opinion, is the distance: it honestly feels like he’s dropped off the end of the world.

Before he left, he said to me: “Y’know, when I’m away, especially when I’m gone so far, the children just get better and better in my mind.”

“YOU WHAT?” I retorted, not sure if I’d heard him properly. I looked at him quizzically, through disbelieving eyes – but he meant it. He misses them so much that, to him, they become little angels, and not the whirling dervishes that seem to visit every time he’s gone.

So, I can’t resist, this is a day-by-day summary of not just our children’s angelic ways, but the household frustrations that he’s missing this week.

Day 1:
All is calm. This isn’t so bad, I think. The boys and I really bond when DH is away and we eat boiled eggs for dinner.

Day 2:
BB develops an ear infection, complicated by whining and exacerbated ten-fold by his noisy brother, who starts shouting erratically as though he’s got Tourette’s. We see the doctor and start antibiotics.

Day 3:
BB’s well enough for school and is all ready at 7.15am, but the bus doesn’t turn up. I phone the mum in charge and find out there’s no school. Teacher training. Sigh. (I swear, they have so many days off here that mums might as well tell themselves there’s no school, and then be pleasantly surprised when there is.)

Day 4:
The gas runs out in the middle of cooking dinner – time to call a gas delivery company (such as ‘Al Boom’ – yes, that’s its name, really!). TV stops working.

Day 5:
The boys are fighting like gerbils. They’re desperately trying to get their hands on our electronic devices. I eventually hide the iPad, and they go for my iPhone, and when I take that away too, LB grabs my Kindle like an addict and starts tapping it furiously in the hope it might have Minecraft on it (this can only end in tears). At bedtime, he tells me petulantly, “I’m not closing my eyes, I’m NOT!”

Happy days! Hurry home DH (and by way of a full disclosure, I actually wouldn’t swap roles in a million years.)

PS: If your husband is on the road a lot, do check out this article, in which Gulf ‘Travel Widows’ (including me!) reveal how they cope with the lifestyle.

The blinged-out art box

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I’ve started to wonder what other mothers keep in their art boxes (I’m also wondering what else finds its way into party bags, after hearing about a mum who gave each child a live goldfish as a party favour – but that’s a whole new blog post).

I know there are crafty and not-so-crafty mothers, and I like to think I fall somewhere in between, but, somehow, my craft box always seems to be lacking something.

I bring tonnes of used paper home from work, which would otherwise go into the shredder, and I buy felt pens, pencils, glitter, etc, when I remember, but lately I’ve started wondering if I should be thinking outside the crayon and marker aisle.

Precious stones glitter on fingers and on art projects

Precious stones glitter on fingers and on art projects

This was brought home to me at approximately 5.15pm this evening – that joyous, twilighty zone when you’re busy with dinner, crabby kids and homework, and your offspring are hell-bent on pushing your buttons.

Nearly there, I’m thinking to myself, imagining that first sip of soothing sauvignon blanc sending post-bedtime relief coursing through my veins.

When…

“Mum!” my oldest bellows. “I forgot to tell you. I’ve got a project to do. I have to make an igloo, out of marshmallows.”

Hmm, timely, I think – given that it’ll soon be hotter than Hades in the UAE, and it’s nearly dinnertime.

“I have to take it in tomorrow. The teacher says so. Everyone else has done theirs’.”….. “I kept forgetting to tell you,” he says, in a quieter voice at least.

So, attempting to fake enthusiasm, I hurriedly spread newspaper over the dining table, find some cardboard, and try to creatively suggest how we can fashion an igloo out of marshmallows, glue and sellotape. (Could be worse, I decide; we could be making the Burj Khalifa out of yogurt pots).

It’s beginning to take shape; I thank my lucky stars that I actually have marshmallows in the house and skirt round the request for cotton wool snow by producing some toilet tissue (voila!). Then BB tells me about Xavier’s igloo.

“His is the best,” he says, clearly impressed. “Xavier used an upside-down china bowl for the igloo, and there’s a blue river running round it – made out of diamonds.”

Diamonds? Seriously? Could you get any flashier? Oh how very Dubai.

Silent Sunday: No more swimming in soup

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Believe it or not, in the UAE many swimming pools are heated in winter – and chilled during the hot summer months. To our delight, this sign appeared at our compound pool last week.

Having a chiller installed means the pool will be swim-able all summer. If the water isn’t cooled from June to September, swimming feels more like taking a dip in a giant Pot Noodle. Now, if they could just work out how to cool the concrete so it doesn’t scold the ole’ feet.

Having a chiller installed means the pool will be swim-able all summer. If pool water isn’t cooled from June to September, swimming quickly starts to feel like you’re taking a dip in a giant Pot Noodle. Now, if they could just work out how to cool the concrete so it doesn’t scold the ole’ feet.

Hannah’s shoebox project

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Last week, an extraordinary eight-year-old who overcame serious illness brought happiness to 56 labourers toiling in the heat outside our desert compound. This is the story of Hannah’s incredible spirit

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German-born Hannah and her younger brother with the men who help build Dubai

Standing in bright sunshine, outside a dusty, hastily erected camp, a very special little girl brought beaming smiles to the faces of the construction workers gathered around her. “Thank you,” she told them, speaking off the cuff to at least 30 men in hard hats and overalls, “for making our road.”

It’s not every day that labourers in Dubai – most of whom have their own children living in countries such as Bangladesh and Pakistan – get to meet a blue-eyed, blonde haired little angel like Hannah. The workers at the back craned their necks to see, and everyone listened intently, even if they didn’t fully understand the English, to hear what Hannah, aged 8, had to say.

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Hannah presented the gifts individually

After her impromptu speech, delivered with the confidence of a child much older, there were more smiles as Hannah handed out gifts, 56 in total, to the crowd. The bags, crammed full of goodies, were the culmination of an initiative she had dreamt up and organised herself. Quite extraordinary. Except we already knew that about Hannah – who, five years ago, beat cancer.

Battling illness
Hannah, from Munich, Germany, was almost three when her mother was given the devastating news that she had a childhood cancer called Wilms’ tumour. A type of kidney cancer, it affects 500 children a year in the US. “I took her to the doctor because she had a swollen belly,” says her mum Kate Mestermann, a midwife. “It wasn’t all that noticeable, but my mother kept telling me to get it checked out.”

And thank goodness she did, because within days cancer had been diagnosed. “The doctors sat me down and told me,” says Kate, recalling the shock. “My husband, a pilot, was away, upgrading to become a captain. I didn’t tell him that day because he was about to do his final check ride. When he called afterwards to let me know he’d passed, I had to tell him our daughter had cancer.”

Hannah had chemotherapy for several weeks, followed by surgery to remove the kidney. As her other kidney showed signs of developing the same tumour, she then underwent another 20 weeks of grueling chemo. “She lost all her hair and suffered from sickness,” says her Dad Marc. “It became daily life for us, to be honest, but anyone with us who saw her suffering the chemo side effects was quite shocked.”

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Shopping done and bags packed

Five years later and now living in Dubai, cancer survivor Hannah is a healthy, happy little girl, who knows that having beaten this illness, she’s got what it takes to tackle whatever life throws at her. “The saying, ‘God won’t give you more than you can handle’ definitely applies to our daughter,” says Marc. She also displays a remarkable and highly developed sensitivity to others – personality traits that led to her shoebox project idea.

“We were driving along our compound road, and she looked out at the workers, who for months have been building a new access road through our patch of desert, and said, ‘We should do something to thank them.’ It was all her idea,” says Kate.

Shortly after that, Hannah’s shoebox project started taking shape. She started with a mind map, showing how she’d raise money, then, with her parents’ help, set about fundraising. “She approached the managers of our local stores to ask them to donate raffle prizes, and sent emails,” says Kate. “Hannah also went door-to-door around the compound, selling cookies, brownies and cupcakes that we’d made. In total, she collected 3,800dhs.”

It was then time to hit the retail store Carrefour, with a lengthy grocery list. Items she purchased to put in each bag included rice, lentils, sunflower oil, sugar, teabags and other food items; toiletries such as razors, shaving cream, toothpaste, soap and deodorant; and pillow cases and sheets.

If you don’t live in Dubai, you might wonder why people here would need basic items like this, but the truth is Dubai’s labourers are paid a pittance. They pay employment agencies to get here – to escape the poverty of their home countries – and instead toil for low pay in the extreme heat of one of the world’s richest economies. All, or nearly all, of the money they earn – which can be as little as £150 a month – is sent back to their families. They live in crowded labour camps, where facilities are basic, and work long shifts (you can read more about this here).

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Cancer survivor Hannah is full of determination

Whilst it’s clearly very wrong that their employers think it’s okay to bring them over here and pay them so little that charity drives are needed to provide essentials, you only have to see the radiant smiles on their faces when strangers show them kindness to understand how appreciated charity boxes are.

“It was wonderful to see the different reactions and expressions on their faces when we did the handover,” says Kate. “And Hannah took it all in her stride – that’s just how she is. Her next project is already on her mind.”

I’m sure I speak for everyone in our compound when I say we’re all moved by Hannah’s story. As one resident put it, “What a great thing! I wish more people in the world could be as super sensitive as you sweet angel.”

Tittering Tuesday

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I must say, signs like this do brighten up the ole’ commute to work. Thank you to my friend K for snapping this while out and about in Dubai. Just a quickie tonight…back soon!

backside entrance

A mother’s illusion

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“Mummy, when you went to the hospital to be chopped up, did they have a party?”

It was a question I wasn’t expecting to hear from my youngest son. I knew what he was referring to – my surgery last week, but good Lord, what on earth did he think had happened? Some kind of ultimate mummy sacrifice?

On the day, they didn’t even know where I was going. I think they just thought I was at work a long time.

But, of course, when I got home, we had to explain why they couldn’t jump on me; why I had a ‘big ouch’ that hurt and why I couldn’t carry LB or even do bear hugs.

“A party?” I responded. “Erm, no, it wasn’t a party LB.”

“Oh.” [looks disappointed]. “But wasn’t there a wabbit? A white one?”

And for my next trick, mum will pull a white rabbit out of a hat

For my next trick, mum will pull a rabbit out of a hat

“There was no rabbit, just the doctors, and nurses – rabbits aren’t allowed. Sorry darling.”

“But they chopped you in half, didn’t they?” [makes sawing motion].

And the penny dropped: he thought I was the (glamorous? ha!) female assistant in a magic show, the lady who gets put in a box and apparently sawn in half.

The one who might just look like she’s playing a supporting role to the magician, but is, in fact, making the mechanics of the illusion work.

And, actually, come to think of it, that IS exactly how I feel in my role as mother much of the time. Thanks LB, you hit the nail on the head!

Unbeliebable!

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Last night, I was rather glad to be the mother of boys and not girls.

Specifically, girls who adore Justin Bieber and needed to be accompanied (at a cost of 1,400dhs/£250 for a family of four) to his much-anticipated, sold-out concert in Dubai. To which he showed up two hours late, on a school night. AGAIN!

My DH and I had been wondering if the tardy Canadian pop diva actually knew where Dubai was. Turns out he did, with rumours he was even looking for a house here.

His entourage reportedly booked out 60 rooms at two different hotels in the city, and were scouting around for things to keep the teenage star out of trouble (at 19, he’s too young to drink in Dubai, a fact one club got round by shipping in a specially made 24-carat gold ping pong table to keep him occupied).

Despite some loud booing, most people stuck it out

Despite some loud booing, most people stuck it out

During the day yesterday, Bieber fever reached a new height, with an unconfirmed sighting at the Dubai Mall resulting in the megamall being mobbed by hundreds of screaming pre-teens, chanting ‘We want Justin’ as they scoured the hallways hoping for a glimpse of their heartthrob.

But, how much the Biebster cares about these adoring fans is what bothers me. Because it seems he learnt nothing from the backlash that took place after he was several hours late to his London show at the O2 Arena in March.

Yes, that’s right, it appears he forgot, once again, that a large part of his fan base are pre-pubescent eight-year-olds and younger, who are normally tucked up in bed by eight on Saturday night. (Sunday being the start of the school/work week in Dubai.) Youngsters who tend to not do so well when kept waiting in a hot, crowded arena for hours.

Doors opened at the Sevens Stadium at 5; from 8pm the organisers told the 27,000-strong crowd that he was ‘on his way’; and Justin eventually came on stage at about 10pm. There were reports of young beliebers fainting at the outdoor venue (evening temperatures in Dubai in May are on the warm side) and others falling asleep on the grass. Poor kids. I can just imagine the disappointment. And the anger parents must have felt.

“The children were tired by 10 and wanted to go home,” said my friend. “When he started, they perked up a little, but my son was asleep for the last 30 minutes on my husband’s lap and my daughter had just had enough.”

I’ve no doubt he put on a great show once it got going, and there will be kids (the ones who managed to stay awake) who want to go again tonight, but let’s hope he shows Dubai a bit more respect at his second concert later today.

TOP TWEET: @arabiaenquirer: EXCLUSIVE: JUSTIN BIEBER blames two-hour delay on “dodgy shawarma”

TOP FACEBOOK UPDATE: “Nuf respect to my DH who has finally accepted that he is, in fact, the best person to escort our daughter to the Justin Bieber concert tonight. She had an eureka moment last week when she noticed how much higher up his shoulders were than mine. … (phew!)”

TOP TIP FOR TONIGHT: If he’s late, just think: the chance to hear 20,000 pre-teens scream at the same time is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Good luck – and don’t forget the ear plugs

Manufactured rain falls in the UAE

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“I’ve found you a new job!” I told DH excitedly the other day. “When you get bored of flying to exotic destinations with an army of attractive flight attendants, you could be a cloud buster!

“Just think, you’d be home every night!”

I’m not sure if it was the latter that was the cause of the nonplussed look, or the fact that in aviation you normally avoid cumulus clouds, but something about his response told me that while he did nearly end up cloud seeding in Texas some years ago, he wouldn’t be applying.

‘Franken-rain’ has been a topic of conversation in Dubai this week, because we’ve been having some really unseasonal, lovely weather. By now, we’re usually holed up in air-conditioned, tightly sealed bubbles, but this week windows have been thrown open to let in cooler air, the sound of thunder and the scent of fresh rain.

Really, really odd for this time of year.

Cloud seeding has been taking place in the UAE with thunderous success. Photo via Gulf News

The UAE dabbles in cloud seeding from time to time, with thunderous success this week. Photo via Gulf News

My suspicions were raised when a friend put on Facebook: “Awesome weather today! Thanks Sheikh Mo for the ionization!” And, if you think about it, modifying the weather in the UAE is something we’d all love to see. Imagine if the pleasant winter temperatures could last just a little bit longer – into mid-May and beyond, giving us extra time to enjoy outdoor activities and extending the tourist season.

My hunch was confirmed when I read in the press that the National Centre of Meteorology and Seismology (NCMS) has been seeding clouds since April 21 to coax the wet stuff out of them. “We are only enhancing the rainfall,” a NCMS scientist was quoted as saying – in other words, the showers are only in part due to the cloud seeding, but manufactured raindrops have indeed fallen.

So how do you persuade a wannabe rain cloud to douse the dry desert below? (and not sail on to a neighbouring country to shed its watery load elsewhere?) Here comes the science – and bear with me, it’s fascinating. Apparently, they study the weather charts in the morning to work out when convective cloud formation is likely to occur. The pilots are briefed and remain on stand-by, while the scientists continue to monitor radar images to make sure they catch the beginning of cloud formation (known as the initial stage of the cloud).

Once the operation starts, a plane flies into the lower third of the cloud, where the updrafts are more prevalent, and releases a chemical salt that gathers the tiny droplets of water in the air into larger ones. When the air has no more resistance to hold them, rain falls.

Impressive, no? And, in an arid country where there’s a shortage of water resources, giving nature a little helping hand in order to boost groundwater storage certainly sounds a good idea. But it does make me wonder: what on earth is IN those raindrops falling on our heads?

Expat Telegraph: How do we feel about the UAE’s Franken-rain?

Circles takes a turbo-charged taxi

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The other day, I took a taxi home from work and sat back, pinned to my seat, as the six-lane Sheikh Zayed Road turned into a blur of speed.

And that was just the slip road onto it.

We set off at a pace from the Crown Plaza Hotel, narrowly missing some errant tourists trying to cross the street, then weaved out onto the SZ road, veering into the second-fastest lane in seconds. The Lewis Hamilton in him sees a chance to step on the gas and he isn’t going to let rush-hour traffic get in our way.

“Slow down!” I want to exclaim, but don’t, instead asking him to turn the AC up. He fiddles around with an air vent in the back and I thank him, willing him to turn his eyes back to the road.

“I get us to Arabian Ranches,” he says, “then you show me the way, ok. Umm Suqeim or Hessa?” he asks. I pick the slower way, thinking it might help him keep his side of the bargain. He nods and starts chatting about bridges, in taxi-driver English.

This brilliant drawing is by the urban sketcher Omar Jaramillo Traverso. You can visit his blog here and see more of his work here

This brilliant drawing is by the urban sketcher Omar Jaramillo Traverso. You can visit his blog here and see more of his work here

I immediately know this isn’t going to be one of those journeys where you sit in silence, listening to the prayer beads jangle and the bleeper go off as the taxi accelerates through the speed limit (120kph).

“Where you from?” he enquires. “You make this journey every day?”, “How long in Dubai?”, “You have husband?”, “Children?”, “Ah, I’m only 24, I have time!”, “How old are you?” he asks, lurching us forwards as he hits the brakes to avoid the car we’re tailing too closely.

“25,” I joke – and he pretends to believe me (oh, how I warm to him, despite knowing he’s peering at me in his rearview mirror far longer than is safe).

I find out he’s from Pakistan (you’ll never meet an Emirati cabbie; most are from India, Afghanistan or Pakistan), and has been careering round Dubai’s roads for two years.

Then, all of a sudden, we’re the ones being tailgated. A Landcruiser with tinted windows is on our bumper, flashing its lights furiously. We move aside, and the road hog roars right up to the next car (flash-flash), then the next (more aggressive flashing).

“So rude,” we both agree, back in the fast lane by now. “You know why? It’s because they drink the camel’s milk!” he tells me, with an air of authority (goodness knows what they’re taught at taxi school).

Though it’s a friendly chat, I’m glad we’re nearing the end of our journey and fully expect to go flying over the speed bumps on our final approach to the Arabian Ranches retail centre (most drivers do, as the humps are not steep and there are no children playing).

When, wouldn’t you know, he takes each bump (and there must be at least 10 of them), as though we’re picking our way up a mountain in a 20-tonne truck with a burst tyre, nearly causing a pile-up of commuters behind us – their final stretch of road home now a slow limp to the finish line.

I consider it, then think better of encouraging him, because telling a Dubai taxi driver to go faster is probably something you should never say. Ever. If you want to arrive without finding your eyebrows have disappeared into your hairline.

The working mum’s costume fail

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Tomorrow is book character day at school – the day school is invaded by a mini fictional force made up of Harry Potter, Dr. Seuss, Angelina Ballerina and other favourite storybook characters.

Sigh.

It’s all part of book week, during which we’re invited to send in money so our kids can spend it at a book fair (or attempt to buy crisps instead, as I suspect my son might try), take part in the Gazillion Minutes of Reading @ Home initiative (okay, it’s a million, not gazillion) and come up with a costume for the dress-up day.

Don’t get me wrong. I do think all this is great – I absolutely love reading, and trying to impart a love of reading to my sons has been really rewarding, as has watching BB learn to read.

It’s the dress-up part that’s bothering me. Because tomorrow BB will go to school wearing a pair of too-small yellow plastic trousers (part of an old fireman’s outfit), a T-shirt emblazoned with a train and a kids’ pilots hat – the dishevelled assembled sum of which is meant to make him look like a steam train driver from his Flying Scotsman book.

Not an accurate depiction of the blogger

Not an accurate depiction of the blogger

Even he knows it’s a crumb-y costume. And I know there will be outfits that mums will have spent ages making. Costumes that originated from Pinterest and were then lovingly hand sewn and accessorised.

Still, it’s not that I didn’t try. I’m just having a crazy busy week, with a new freelance job (ironically, for the PR company handling the Sharjah Children’s Reading Festival, which we dragged the boys to this weekend and STILL failed to come home with a suitable book) and I haven’t had a spare minute.

After work today, I sped into our local bookstore, practically setting the paperbacks alight, to try to buy a Fireman Sam book, to go with the old fireman costume I knew was hanging in the cupboard (they not only have to dress up, but also take the book in).

“Do you have Fireman Sam?” I asked the man in the bookshop hopefully.

“No,” he replied after glancing briefly at his computer screen.

“How about any book about firemen, perhaps?” I tried.

“No, nothing,” he said, shaking his head (and I’m sure he laughed, sensing my desperation).

I tried to persuade BB he could wear his Halloween costume instead. “Look, we can use a pen to colour in the skeleton so it looks like a normal pirate’s outfit,” I trilled, as he looked on glumly.

“Or maybe your brother’s spiderman top will fit.”

“That’s a film, mum.”

“I want to go as a dog,” he finally said, getting excited at last. “Floppy the dog from my phonics book. Can you make a dog costume? Please, mummy, please make me a dog suit?”

And mums who work and also leave things like this to the eleventh hour will know exactly what the answer to that request is.