The Philippines: How to help

With such a strong community of Filipinos – some of the sweetest people I know – in our compound, we watched in horror as Typhoon Haiyan slammed into six central Philippine islands just over a week ago.

By the time the first heartbreaking images of the devastation caused by the world’s most powerful storm flashed up on our TV screens, the agonising wait had already begun. Our housekeeper knew her family was safe (they live in a different part of the country), but many Filipinos residing in the UAE had no idea if their loved ones were still alive.

The aftermath: Children beg for food from passing motorists in Borbon town, Cebu. Photo from NBC News

The aftermath: Children beg for food from passing motorists in Borbon town, Cebu. Photo from NBC News

My friend’s housekeeper, V, from the island that was hit first, faced the longest few days of her life. All forms of communication were down and, while she was hoping for the best (her town was inland and surrounded by trees), her distress was immense. The anguish on her face spoke volumes.

Finally, several days later, she received word from her uncle that her family had survived the storm. He travelled to her hometown to check on her parents and niece – they’d lost the roof on their house, but were, thankfully, unharmed.

For others living far from their families, the news won’t be so good. And, now, as aid workers distribute food and water and provide emergency shelter, attention is turning – as it does after any natural disaster – to avoiding a health crisis. Waterborne diseases such as cholera and typhoid are always the biggest fear.

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Beautiful islands: This photo, of Coron in Palawan (where the typhoon exited on its way to Vietnam), was taken in April this year by my friend Jenny. She was in the Philippines at the time of the storm, but to our great relief was out of harm’s way

I know for a fact that people around the world have been deeply moved by the decimation caused by Typhoon Haiyan. Another friend’s update on Facebook said it all:

“A terrible tragedy for a country full of lovely people, which already has so much to deal with.”

And I do think that, here in the UAE, we have a special, and for many, very personal, reason to reach out. People are the Philippines’ biggest export, and 700,000 have travelled to the UAE to work. The majority are employed in our service industry.

Not only are they the gentle people who keep our households ticking over, but – as this post on Expat Telegraph highlights – they’re the hard-working “waiters and waitresses, the drivers, the paramedics, the lifeguards, the nail salon technicians, the school bus attendants, the classroom assistants, the receptionists, the shop assistants, the nurses.”

Let’s do what we can to help their families and fellow countrymen, in the typhoon-ravaged parts of the eastern Philippines. Here’s how:

Emergency Appeal – UNICEF Philippines Donation Portal: Children affected by Super Typhoon Yolanda need your help.

The Philippine Red Cross: 100 local outposts have been mobilised to help with relief efforts.

International Medical Corps: The organisation has deployed an emergency response team of medical personnel and sanitation experts to the Philippines and is accepting donations in order to ship medicine, clean water and food.

Doctors Without Borders’ Emergency Response Fund: As well as sending teams of doctors, nurses, surgeons, psychologists and sanitation experts, nine cargo planes loaded with water, sanitation and medical supplies are being dispatched.

World Food Programme: Donations are being sought for emergency food assistance. The organisation is mobilising quickly to reach those in need with high-energy (and nutritious) biscuits.

The Philippine government said on Monday that nearly 4,000 are known to have died. Four million are displaced.

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Remote: Taken by Jenny’s husband, this shot is the view from a restaurant built on a mangrove, in an area of environmental sustainability. What a beautiful country – it’s so sad it’s suffered so much. Haiyan was the second category 5 typhoon to strike the Philippines this year.

Why the British heat wave is my fault

“Oh THAT’LL be over well before we get back,” I thought to myself on the plane to Florida, as the news spread through the aircraft that Andy Murray had won Wimbledon on the hottest day of the year so far.

“Heat waves in the UK never last more than four or five days,” I told DH. “A week tops.

Famous.Last.Words.

I take it back, I do, because to my utter amazement, we find ourselves back in baking Britain, watching the news in disbelief as we hear about bush fires tearing through the country’s commons, train tracks buckling and roads melting in the heat.

Brighton beach: The British seaside gets a little crowded during heat waves

Brighton beach: The British seaside gets a little crowded during heat waves

And, you know what, I’m beginning to think: [lowers her voice] it might be MY fault.

You see, when I come back to the UK for summer leave, one of the things I really look forward to is cooler weather. The kind of weather where I can actually wear a long-sleeved top. Maybe even get a goose-bump or two in the evening. And certainly not have to worry about sunscreen for a few weeks.

But, with the exception of our homecoming last year, when the UK was experiencing floods of biblical proportions meriting an inland lifeboat rescue, what tends to happen is this: I get off the plane and the temperature rockets by at least 10 degrees.

It’s like the Dubai heat comes with me, loses much of its intensity on the journey, but then bursts out of my suitcase along with our six-weeks’-worth of clothes to breathe hot, humid air on greener pastures.

(I’m available for hire if you’re planning an event requiring freakish temperatures. And, I know. I know. Folks in the UK have waited months, even years, for weather as warm as this).

Of course, it’s not as hot as Dubai. Nowhere near. It’s just that you feel it more in Britain. With plenty of experience under my belt when it comes to living under a blazing-hot sun, I feel reasonably qualified to comment on why this is so.

Without much further ado, here are my top 10 observations:

1. Hot houses: British homes are designed for cold, damp weather, and are increasingly being built with heat-retaining insulation. Draughts are the enemy, whereas in the Middle East, houses were traditionally built around a central courtyard to promote air flow. Wind towers also provided ventilation.

2. Air conditioning: Modern homes in Dubai don’t have wind towers anymore of course, because there’s air conditioning absolutely everywhere. Fake air, yes, but I bet the owners of the 0.5 per cent of British homes that have AC aren’t wiping their brows right now.

3. Drinking fountains: Something I noticed while living in the US is that you’re never too far from a water fountain. In Florida last week, we carried a bottle around with us and re-filled it (albeit with egg-smelling swamp water) frequently. It was at least drinking water, which is more than you can say for most public facilities in the UK.

4. Curtains closed: On entering our rental property in Florida, all the drapes were shut, to stop the sun beating in. In Britain, however, we’re trained to expose ourselves to sunlight the moment it makes an appearance.

5. Ahh, that’s nice: At the US theme parks, there were undoubtedly moments when we all felt hot and irritable, but cooling mechanisms, such as giant fans that spritzed you with cold water, helped a lot.

6. Whirling fan: Our bedroom in Florida was equipped with an energy-efficient ceiling fan (as well as AC) and I loved falling asleep under its whirling blades. If these became popular in Britain, you could reverse the direction in winter to draw warm air from the ceiling.

7. Hot metal: Chaos unraveled at London’s Waterloo train station on Monday due to a track that buckled in the heat. In other parts of the country, speed restrictions have been enforced to prevent hot rails from being damaged. In some countries with persistently hot weather, rails are laid on reinforced concrete (known as slab track) and won’t buckle. But with a price tag that’s four times higher, slab track is unlikely to take off in Britain and Network Rail has instead started painting some sections of rail white so less heat is absorbed.

8. Cooling centres: In US states such as Illinois, New York and Minnesota (where we lived for several years), cooling centres with air conditioning, drinking water and often medical attention are set up to offer relief from the heat. If these took off here, I’m guessing the number of heat-related deaths would be less.

9. Outdoor pools: Some municipal swimming pools in the US offer discounted admission during heat waves and extend their opening hours. In the UK, however, the number of open-air Lidos, built from Victorian times until the 1960s, is dwindling.

10. And finally: While I’m not suggesting these measures are needed in Britain, other things that help beat the heat in the Middle East are tinted windows on cars; paints, coatings and glass that reduce heat; and a midday break rule enforced during the summer to keep workers out of the sun between 12.30pm and 3pm.

My best advice, though: Enjoy! What absolutely amazing weather!

The sauna relay (mums win gold)

It’s the last week of term here, and despite searing heat and 85 per cent humidity, desert mummies are flinging themselves around attending end-of-term concerts, classroom parties and parent meetings.

To get an idea of what this is like, imagine what a giant sauna might feel like, and picture yourself jumping in and out of it fully clothed. Imagine the backs of your knees sweating and your hair plastered to your head. Then, add some extra diary dates to an already-jam-packed schedule, a couple of hot, quarrelling children and a car that burns you every time you climb back in it.

dubai-meme-03-hot-tap-waterAs you pick your way over a sandy car park, while mopping your brow and wiping your shades (they steam up the moment you step into the outside air, so heavy today it was almost too thick to breathe), you think to yourself, “My.God.it’s.hot.”

Although why it surprises us each year, I’m really not sure, because it’s no hotter than it usually is in late June. I think we just tend to forget over the 6-8 months of glorious weather.

We’ve reversed our taps – in summer, you can turn your water heaters off and get all the warm water you need from the cold tap (due to cold-water storage tanks getting microwaved by the sun).

And if one of the children opens a window in the car, I’ve noticed I’ll snap it shut immediately, even if it means little fingers get severed, so the AC air doesn’t escape.

It definitely gets to the stage here where everyone is ready for their summer leave, the boys included.

Son1 was looking at something on the iPad the other day and remarked: “Will we see these in England?” We glanced at the screen to see what he was talking about, and saw white, fluffy clouds. A rarity in the dusty, desert summer skies.

Not long now, kids!

on the upside, the lack of cloud cover made for a fabulous super-moon yesterday. Photo via The National

On the upside, the lack of cloud cover made for a fabulous super-moon yesterday.                              Photo via The National

Manufactured rain falls in the UAE

“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?

Silent Sunday: Sky

There’s a good reason why I love the Middle East at this time of year, but this weekend I left the clear, bright-blue sky behind and landed in what looked like a frozen tundra. Still, there’s no place like home! (Once I got over the reverse culture shock and sorted out a serious wardrobe malfunction, aka, not owing a coat.)

The deep blue...

The deep blue over Dubai

A serious wardrobe malfunction meant I landed without a coat - happily, I now own one!

Circling over London’s Heathrow airport while the runway was de-iced

PS: That’s DH at the front flying! Makes it look like I was doing a spot of tail-walking, no?

You’ve been warned – NO ice cream!

I must stop blogging about the weather. I know.

Especially as the UK (where I’m hoping to travel to on Friday!) has been brought to a standstill this week with the arrival of an icy but pretty snowmageddon.

My Facebook page is populated by snowmen with carrot noses and stony eyes, and BBC online has kept us updated with ‘As it happened’ reports on the disruption and chaos – so, I’m well aware that here in the UAE we’re getting off, er, very lightly.

But we’re actually experiencing something of a ‘cold snap’ ourselves.

Really. We are. The mercury has dropped to morning lows of 9 to 10°C, and with hard, marble floors, flimsy summer duvets and no heating, it actually feels really chilly.

Pounding the school run in Dubai this week (boot envy, moi?)

Pounding the school run this week (boot envy, moi?)

This happens every year at about this time (see, as proof, last year’s blog post on the desert freezing over), but we tend to forget about it as it doesn’t last very long – say, a couple of weeks – and when it leaps back to 40°C the cooler temps are hard to imagine.

The best thing is being able to wear different clothes – with a sleeve, even Ugg boots and a scarf if you can find these items in the depths of your closet. My mind starts tripping with wardrobe opportunities – until I remember all my winter clothes are from 2005.

I love this weather, I really do; it’s such a breath of fresh air, but the funny thing is how seriously folks in Dubai with outdoor jobs take it – donning several layers, bobble hats, big, thick coats and sometimes ear muffs (no kidding!) like they’re Arctic explorers.

My top prize, though, goes to gulfnews.com for this hilarious news piece, written by the bureau chief in all seriousness and entitled ‘People shiver in the bitterly cold nights’.

After reporting that the temperature had dropped to a biting 2°C in inland desert areas, the article warns people to wear warm clothes, not to stay in desert camps or open places overnight, and – it gets better – to have hot drinks and avoid ice cream as a precaution against colds and flu.

As a former resident of Minneapolis in the Midwest of America, where we survived temperatures that, with the wind chill, dipped to minus 42°C – and where you could get frostbite on your ear lobes in five minutes – I wore my gym shorts on the school run this morning without fear.

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Snow, snow, go away – by Friday. I am (fingers crossed) London bound!

Silent Sunday: Winter in the UAE

Inviting, no? But this is what our pool looks like on a winter morning – deserted! It was a chilly 10 degrees centigrade at 7am today. Brrr! I took this photo at about 10.30am, as the temperature was rising (it’ll hit 24 degrees or so) – and noticed that the lifeguard was wearing a wooly hat!

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The hot weather we’re used to thins your blood, you know…

Rain day in Dubai

What I really want to write is a raging post on gun control in a country I love – but although my husband and kids are American, I’m not, and perhaps I just don’t understand.

Yesterday, after hugging my children, I yelled at the iPad, my blood boiling – incensed by some of the comments left by absolute morons (who can’t even spell) on British journalist Piers Morgan’s blog. I’ve no doubt my outburst was futile.

So, I’ll spare you the rant about what to me is intuitive – and by way of distraction from a tragic topic that’s left me shocked, horrified and saddened to the core, I’ll be very British, and talk about the weather instead.

Here in Dubai, we don’t get much adverse weather. Some people would say it goes from boiling hot to hot, but this isn’t actually true: at 9am this morning, the outside temperature reading on the car told me it was a chilly, jumper-worthy 16 degrees.

The cars were making waves just outside my work

The cars were making waves just outside my work

But it wasn’t the ‘cold spell’ that was the talk of the town today: it was the rain. Lashings of it, pouring down from low-hanging granite clouds and forming small, muddy lakes on the city’s drenched roads.

Puddle-loving children always get excited due to the novelty factor (the lack of variety has led one school that actually has weather on the curriculum to lay on a field trip to Ski Dubai – the lucky kids).

And for the grown-ups – who hail from the UK at least – the dull, wet, languid weather transports us on a metaphorical journey across oceans, back to Blighty, easing a little of the homesickness that can set in as Christmas approaches.

But what starts out as a rare treat can quickly become a proverbial pain in the arse as you start worrying about flooding on water-logged highways, remember that the wipers on the SUV don’t work (they disintegrated, through lack of use), and realise you have no rain clothes. Not even a brolly.

“Look Mummy, those people have an umbrella,” squealed LB in delight, as I dragged him in the pelting rain across a soggy football field to his classroom this morning. “Why don’t we have one?”

The wettest ever Dubai school drop-off completed, I got back in the car to go to work, fully expecting the roads to be chaos and for it to take twice as long, when I realised something. The usual 10-15-minute bottleneck – leaving the community that hosts my youngest son’s school – was, to my surprise, only six or seven cars long.

Half of Dubai must be taking a rain day, I smiled to myself, imagining my fellow commuters curled up at home with hot cocoa and watching Jaws on telly. What a good and sensible idea.

The next time the heavens open over Dubai, I'm having a duvet day too

The next time the heavens open over Dubai, I’m having a duvet day too

Flooding in the desert – yes, really!

Long-time readers of this blog will know that rain in Dubai can be as exciting as, say, a white Christmas in the west.

It’s always the talk of the town, and is usually prequeled with a will-it, won’t-it, slightly murky lead-up that puts the whole of the emirate on rain watch.

5 drops here, 10 drops there. Radio presenters add to the ripples of anticipation, as listeners text in with rain sightings.

Maybe once or twice a year, it does actually rain – and I nearly always savour the event, however quickly it’s over, from start to finish.

NOT this time.

It began with a hunch, a sort of uneasy feeling that all was not well with our usually sunny world. As a strange darkness crept round the curtains this morning, I morphed into Rain Scrooge.

Puffy rain clouds – meh! We all cast our eyes skywards to witness the perennial blue sky clouding over

“Oh no, not rain!’ I thought to myself. My Dad was going to the golf, and I had lots of driving to do (from point A, to point B, to point C, and then possibly to point D later on).

If you saw how people drive – no, make that aquaplane – when it rains here, you’d understand. And there was also the small matter of not knowing if the wipers on the car would work (they disintegrated on our other car through lack of use).

“Mummy, it’s raining – on Grandad’s golf day,” squealed LB, hurtling up the stairs like a baby elephant.

We peered out the window at the glistening ground and I reassured Dad it woudn’t last – there was no way the golf could be rained off in Dubai – but even though it wasn’t really much of a downpour, chaos was unleashed on the roads.

A puddle on Sheikh Zayed Road made it onto the traffic news, my journey to work took three times as long, and all over Dubai, there were repercussions because of the unique event that is rain in the desert.

Swimming lessons were cancelled due to debris in the pool (a few leaves, perhaps?); Wake-up and Shake-up, a weekly event parents attend at school (don’t ask!), was postponed due to the tennis court being wet.

But the most-trying news was to come. At work, my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognise. It’s BB’s birthday party tomorrow and on the other end was the manager of the venue.

“We’re flooded,” he told me. “This whole side of the Ibn Battuta mall is covered in water. We’re sorry, we can’t do the party.” (I don’t normally swear on the blog, but sometimes an expletive is necessary: @^%^@@@!)

Cue: a day spent finding another venue so as not to disappoint an excited small boy on his seventh birthday (thank you DH for pulling off that one), and contacting 25 mums to let them know.

I mean, seriously, what are the chances of a party venue being flooded in Dubai? It was only a piddling amount of rain.

Pah!

Postscript: BB’s birthday is now at Chuck E. Cheese’s – I can’t believe I’m hosting a party at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Ever since my friend’s boy attended a party there and got his head stuck between the toilet roll and the loo door, I’ve vowed never to enter Chuck E. Cheese’s lair with more than two kids. Wish me luck!

Fog season in Dubai

When we woke up this morning, Dubai was draped in a silky mist – which might sound romantic, but in fact makes for a craaaazy, almost heart-stopping start to the day.

Eerie: Dubai shrouded in early-morning mist. Thanks to @Linda_FB’s hubby for this great photo, taken this morning

If you could stay in bed and just look at all the photos going round Twitter it might actually feel cozy, but for most of us, the early-morning fog that blankets the emirate at this time of year is greeted with an inward groan.

I peered out the window and could just see the main road, but knew immediately what the fog meant: numpties forgetting to put their headlights on, despite two-metre visibility; drivers going too fast; and turning their hazards on (creating more confusion).

The school bus got lost in our compound, flights were diverted to Saudi and mums were tweeting to say they’d got to school, but couldn’t see it. The fog was so dense just outside our compound, it was like driving in a blizzard, in the desert (weird!).

Since it was patchy, there were long clear stretches on the way to school, but then I’d hit another wall of fog and feel my grip on the steering wheel tighten. As it lifted and the sky came into view, I felt like I was in a blue movie with the sunshine filtering through the wispy mist.

On the upside, fog like this signals a change in season – that cooler weather is on the way, for which we’ll all be grateful. Early yesterday morning, I found myself taking a second glance at the temperature reading on the car: 24 degrees, it beamed. Well below 30. Hurray!