It’s well known in Dubai that helpers try to iron all sorts of things, from baby clothes to boxer shorts. Today, I was in our local supermarket and spotted this advert on the noticeboard. I just love the way it reads, giving the impression that the houseboy will iron your pet for you! Only in Dubai …
As an American friend just pointed out to me, US readers may also enjoy the way it suggests you’re contacting the Mob if you call.
With our day starting a little earlier than last year – and about three hours earlier than it did in the summer holidays – I’m finding that I can keep busy until about 3ish, doing school runs, getting groceries, running errands, even the gym. But then, like clockwork, at 3pm, my body (and mind) say: “That’s it! Nap!”
Of course, this isn’t compatible with two small boys, who thought naps were overrated even when they were babies. So I plough on, hoping for a second wind (which usually comes after the children are in bed).
Today, though, I tried to sneak a nap in. I honestly thought that in the precious quiet time in between LB coming home from school and BB’s return (after which he loves nothing more than to populate our house with his friends), I might be able to take a power nap. On the sofa. While LB played with his cars. Just for 10 minutes.
As if!
“Mummy, you’re the runway,” giggled LB, landing his fighter jet on my face. “Jugga-jugga-jugga. Dthug, dthug!” [Thanks DH for the Pearl Harbour suggestion just before heading out the door.]
This was followed by: “Mum, WHY are you sleeping? It’s N.O.T. nighttime!” Said with the indignation of a put-out 3YO worried it might actually be night.
He prized my eyelids open with his little fingers, walloped me with the airplane a second time and climbed on top of me to bring me back to life.
Then came the sentence that was sure to get me moving.
“Mummy, my pee’s coming!”
I should have known my chances of 10 minutes of shut-eye were about the same as a puffy rain cloud floating past in the bright-blue sky and dousing our desert garden with wet stuff.
My children hear me say this every day after school. I must ask at least four or five times, phrased in slightly different ways in an attempt to get an answer.
“Who did you see at school today?” “What did you learn?” “Did you have French…or Arabic today?” “Maybe PE?” I probe.
But quite honestly, it’s like getting blood out of a stone.
“We watched TV, Mum!” (I’ve learnt he means they used the smart board)
But most of the time, he replies, “We did nuff-ing.” Or, when pressed, gives me an exasperated eye-roll and sighs, “I can’t remember.”
Often, I try again later on, hopeful that one last open-ended question might work, but by this time he’s usually head down over my iPad, downloading the video clips he likes watching using our sometimes-fast new internet connection.
Interestingly, though, the thing he has mentioned is the fact his teacher is pregnant. She must only have about four weeks to go and has told the class she’s having a boy.
“There’s a baby inside Ms. C’s tummy,” he told me yesterday, quite proud of the fact he was privvy to this news.
“That’s right,” I said. “And do you know when she’s having her baby?”
“Dunno,” he replied. “The baby’s still loading in her tummy.”
This morning, on the way to school, I had the most wonderful surprise. I was just dodging a large water truck, while listening to LB chattering in the back, when I suddenly realised my blog was being read out on the radio!
“LB, be quiet – please!” I shushed. “Listen!” [not that he knows what my blog is, or was about to start listening].
“Mum! You didn’t want to actually SIT on the sofa, did you?”
I practically danced LB into his classroom and let the double-parking nonsense that’s going on outside the gates roll off my shoulders. Heavens, I was even wearing the black gym wear that’s currently trending on the school run. Drop-off doesn’t get any better!
The tsunami of extra visits my blog received today may all be one-hit wonders, but it was really fun to witness the power of social media (the radio station re-tweeted the post on Twitter and it made it onto their Facebook page too).
Of course, now I have stage fright – and can’t think of anything to write about. So suffice to say, in a week where DH has been on the other side of the world the whole time – and the children decided it would be fun to rearrange the living room furniture – my five minutes of fame really put a smile on my face. 🙂
I’ve made a new friend since getting back to Dubai. She actually popped up on my ‘friend radar’ before the summer, but busy schedules got in the way.
When I returned, our paths crossed and, one party and two playdates later, I’m pretty sure she’s a keeper – in expat terms, that is.
As we sipped on cappuccinos yesterday afternoon at the playarea, on the fringes of a group of women from Dubai Mums, we found ourselves discussing the errant, sometimes tenuous nature of expat friendships.
“In nine years, I’ve seen a lot of friends come and go,” she told me, with a look that said, “They nearly all leave in the end – the lot of them.”
I nodded. It’s what many women find here. Not nearly as much as some expat postings, where it can be so transient the children automatically assume their playmates have moved on if they’re off sick from school. But even so – despite the fact Dubai, with its non-stop sunshine, maid culture, champagne brunches and five-star resorts, is hardly a ‘hardship posting’ – there’s still a steady turnover of friends and you do have to stay on the look out for new ones.
Especially as friendships, it seems, are forged in some unexpected places when you find yourself living overseas, with children and a DH who travels. A lot.
With an influx of new families in the UAE in situ for the new school term, mums are exchanging confidences and phone numbers
Here’s how I found my inner circle (and why I love them!):
B: Lived opposite us in our first compound. Kindred spirits, we shared a fear of driving in Dubai, though really she’s an ace behind the wheel (American).
L1: Chatted while sitting next to each other at the doctor’s surgery. I was really forward and pounced on her (actually on her husband, if I’m honest, as by the time I’d plucked up courage, she’d been called in to see the doctor) and got her phone number. She moved to Dubai from Hong Kong and also has two boys, same ages (British).
K: A talented writing buddy (blogs at sandboxmoxie.com) who I knew I’d be great friends with. Just knew. Even if a year passed before we bumped into each other again (American).
M: Just happened to be sitting near each other in the park one weekend. With a high-flying, full-time job in education, she was looking for mum friends and so we swapped numbers. Now I see her most weekends (Canadian).
L2: A neighbour and another clever writing friend who also happens to be one of the funniest women on the planet, especially when drinking gin on a Friday (British).
C: Met at an ExpatWoman playgroup and bonded over Black Forest gateau in Ikea. Now lives in Abu Dhabi. Uber-stylish and owns the most fabulous shoes (British)
If you’re new in Dubai, welcome! We’re a friendly bunch, I promise!
Last year, our morning routine was too good to be true: BB was picked up by bus and whisked off to school in a blink, while LB went to a nursery inside our compound.
Workwise, I could do a whole day in the office as a freelance, or bits and pieces at home – the sum of which were a drop in the ocean really in terms of the household budget, but at least made me feel like I was contributing in some small way.
But kids, they tend to start growing up, don’t they? And so it’s still something of a shock to me that this year I have two boys in two different schools (the hope is that in about 3 years’ time, the waiting list fairy will smile on us and BB will join his brother).
Why such an early school start? I’ve heard that in Australia, children with a 9.15am start go surfing first
And today, I found out why. Despite this school being nearby, to get there for the 7.50am start, you need to set out at least half an hour before to avoid the argy-bargying that goes on round the roundabaout, the tussle for parking spots and the queue snaking its way from the highway.
The drop-off completed on the late side, I headed back to our compound, thinking positive thoughts about going to the gym and getting groceries – all before 8.45am.
Thwarted. A power cut meant another hot and sticky, Bikram-style workout and at the store, it was as if Halloween had come early, with an assistant taking shoppers round with a torch, shining the beam down the dark aisles like a policeman scanning a dingy alleyway for baddies.
But my biggest bugbear this morning: LB is only at school for what feels like 20 minutes. His pick-up is earlier than nursery, just about giving mums enough time to do the shopping, come home, put the kettle on and go to the loo before heading back to the school to collect a child who will need entertaining all afternoon.
How being back on the school run, with less child-free time than before, feeling like a shadowy figure at the other school (BB’s back on the bus, bless him) and foraging around the grocery store with a flashlight is progress, I’m not sure.
I’m not going to get any work done this year, am I?
Rant over. Tomorrow I’ll beat the time thief. I’ll be out the door at 7.20am. Sharp.
I read somewhere that you know you’re a long-term desert dwelling expat when you stop explaining to people that the weekend here is Friday and Saturday.
In fact, it used to be Thursday and Friday, changing in 2006 after it was deemed that having a weekend halfway into the rest of the world’s working week wasn’t productive.*
Every Friday at noon, Muslims go to the mosque for Friday prayers and the city erupts with noise as the mosques broadcast their sermons on loud speakers. If you’re parked in the vicinity, you’re highly likely to get blocked in as people flock to pray, leaving their cars in every available space, on the pavement, and on the sand.
The call to prayer (azaan) is heard five times every day (seven days a week) and I really enjoy hearing it when we’re out and about. It’s such a part of life in Dubai and always reminds me where we are.
The children here, for whom going back to school on Sunday is perfectly normal, can even be trained to come home when they hear the call to prayer.
“I have to go when I hear the noisy man,” one of BB’s friends told me once during a playdate at our previous villa, located in a compound right opposite a mosque.
“The noisy man?” I enquired. “Ah, of course!” When you live so close to a mosque, it is pretty loud – and the first call to prayer is at sunrise!
But, as I said, I love listening to the echoing song of the iman (and quickly learnt to sleep through the dawn call). You can also hear it in shopping malls, where even if you don’t practice Islam, it’s a signal to think beyond the shopping.
Have a quick listen below!
*As an aside, in several other parts of the Middle East (Saudi Arabia, Oman and Yemen), the weekend is still Thurs-Fri.
Like many compounds in Dubai, ours has a gym that I visit erratically. It overlooks the pool, so while you’re working out, you can watch swimmers and sunbathers, which makes it marginally more interesting, I suppose.
For a while, it was a running joke that it was harder to gain access to the gym than it was to drive into our compound. If you’re behind the wheel of a 4×4, merely looking like an expat is usually enough to get you waved through security into our compound, whereas the gym became all draconian, requiring paperwork, access keys and a signing-in-and-out system.
The Yummy Mummies straight after school drop off (who I secretly want to look like)
Today, I got past the security guard perched outside the gym with no problem, and stepped on the treadmill to start my back-to-the-gym campaign.
Admittedly, it was a soft, leisurely start and so as the conveyor belt revolved at a fast walking-pace beneath my feet and my lungs contracted, I had time to read the gym rules.
I just love the rules that are posted in public places in Dubai. They’re always amusing…here are a few of my favourites from the gym:
● Wear proper gym attire (athletic tennis or cross training shoes only, T-shirt, shorts, or sweat pants. NO: Jeans, sandals, open-toe shoes or boots) … [Boots! As if! Half expected heels to be listed too]
● Do not put hands on mirrors … [you cheeky monkey]
● Only water bottles to be used in the gym & on equipment. Cups are prohibited … [so leave them at home, naughty!]
● Do not use weights on cardiovascular equipment … [do people actually do this?]
● No bags (gym bags, purses or back packs) allowed on the gym floor … [don’t say you weren’t warned!]
Though, perhaps the funniest thing was the sweet cleaning lady in the restroom afterwards who started wafting a big wad of tissues by my bright-red face, fanning me as though I was about to expire.
In my defence, the AC was broken – yes, really! And humidity levels are in the ‘high stress’ zone this month.
Mothers across Dubai were either breathing a huge sigh of relief or sobbing into their hankies this morning as they dropped their children at school for the start of the new term.
But rather than simply depositing your offspring into the classroom roughly on time, it seems there are plenty of tactics you can use (some of them underhand) if you want to achieve a flawless drop off. Much is doubtless universal, but there are certainly some skills that are specific to Dubai schools.
Tips and tricks:
● Even if you only drop off one child, make sure you drive your 7-seater SUV right up to the school gates.
● Drive at speed, prepare to race other parents from the red light, bully your way round the roundabouts and take every opportunity to jump the queue.
Creating the illusion of a six-hour workout is a useful skill
● When alighting from your car, greet your friend with a cheery smile and a wave.
● Pay special attention to your chosen outfit. Currently trending is gym wear, preferably black. Whether or not you actually go straight to the gym from the drop off is entirely irrelevant.
● Make sure you and your children are perfectly laundered. Even the slightest trace of toothpaste, breakfast cereal, chocolate, snot, vom or poo will make itself glaringly apparent at the worst moment.
● Although a huge pair of sunglasses will hide a plethora of cosmetic tardiness, make sure your nails are perfect and you hair is pristine.
● Do not rush or run. Do not push or drag your child. Irrespective of what is actually happening, glide serenely through the school with a relaxed and happy expression.
● Greet each member of staff and wish them good morning. Train your children to do the same.
● When engaging in small talk with other parents keep to the following subjects: how charming the children are, how much the children are growing, how lovely everyone looks, the weather.
● Never admit to another mother any homework not done, lost library books, tantrums endured either at home or in the car, diarrhoea or head lice.
● Of course, all of the above also applies during pick up – although you must ensure that whatever you wear is entirely different from the outfit you were sporting only a few hours earlier.
● The only possible exception to this rule is you may return in the same gym wear, creating the aura of a potential six-hour work out. Sweat patches, however, are not acceptable.
Returning to the Middle East after summer leave is really the only time you see Dubai through the eyes of a tourist. What always strikes me is the colour palette – the yellows, beiges, saffrons, hints of lemon, touches of ochre, seen on the ground, on villas and buildings, and at the beach. They’re such warm, cheerful colours, but best of all, I love the way the city is bathed in almost non-stop golden sunshine.
Sunset over the land of sand, taken by my friend Elin Boyd