Tag Archives: Dubai

Why working from home isn’t working

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There’s something I’ve learnt about work in Dubai – it’s quite different from being gainfully employed back in the UK or US.

You can ‘get away’ with things here – so you hear stories such as my friend’s tale about a meeting in which her boss got angry and swirled around to tell her colleague, “My, you look spotty!”

On the job section of a website called Dubizzle, you’ll quickly find adverts that specify what nationality they’re looking for, or not. For example, ‘Models & promoters needed (No Filipinos)’; and another stating, ‘Only expats or Russian girls may apply.’

After just five minutes of living in Dubai you realise that with so many people from South Asia terrified of losing their jobs, working conditions are not always what they should be – and nor is the pay.

But I didn’t mean to dwell on the negative stuff, because actually the chance to work with such a diverse mix of people from all over the world (not to mention the tax-free extra dirhams) has been wonderful. My intention was merely to point out some differences I’ve noticed.

So yesterday, when a publishing company I won’t name asked me to come into the office for “a couple of hours” to do some proof-reading, what they really meant was “would you give up 10 hours of your time to re-write swathes of copy put together by writers from Syria, Egypt, etc, whose first language is most definitely not English.”

Spot the difference: H&M adverts featuring sexy Brazilian model Giselle were censored for the Dubai market

I’m also finding out that there are certain things you won’t ‘get away with’ in the media industry here. I’ve been told that designers and journalists who have put together a layout with a camel above a sheikh have lost their jobs – and international publications have been known to have inappropriate images (like a rear view of a naked woman at the back of The Times Style magazine) blacked out with marker pen.

This is apparently done by those doing time in the UAE. And anything deemed offensive may also be ripped out. One publisher had government approval to write about wine for a food book. Once the book was published, the decision was apparently reversed and the book was sold with the wine chapter listed on the contents page, but no chapter actually in the book!

To date, I don’t think I’ve said anything on my humble blog to get me deported. And working down in Media City, where there are numerous good-quality magazines, from Time Out to Esquire, has been a really positive experience.

And when I went to see the movie Friends with Benefits the other night, it had been so heavily cut, there was no evidence of any benefits at all!

Perhaps my biggest challenge has been the projects I’ve taken on from home, because at the moment I’m finding working at home to be the equivalent of walking up the Burj Khalifa backwards in Jimmy Choos.

It’s just too tempting to think, “I’ll just squeeze in that mammoth grocery shop / go through that drawer of clutter / lie down for a quick nap.” And, the hardest one to resist, hearing the kids the other side of the wall being looked after by our nanny.

I keep finding myself at the computer at 11pm trying to catch up. Hence I was intrigued by a couple of jobs landed by friends of mine recently (as a quick aside, it never ceases to amaze me how expat women here who don’t want to work full-time, don’t want to have another baby but want to do something to stave off boredom, reinvent themselves – sometimes several times over).

So my friend who was a nurse, and discovered that the pay here for this particular profession is abysmal, is now a chocolate taster for the Mars factory! And another pal, who used to be an airline pilot in the US, became a mystery shopper (she actually got paid to shop!) and now reviews movies for Virgin Radio Dubai.

Perhaps the answer is to only accept jobs that take me into an office in Media City, where household distractions aren’t a problem – except all the girls down there are young and thin, with sashaying hips, trendy clothes and perfectly flicked frizz-free hair.

Anyway, enough – I’m procrastinating again and must get back to editing a delightfully bad feature (because there’s only so many times I can tell them my lack of productivity is due to our internet being down).

PHOTO CREDITS: TNT Magazine; Collider.com

I don’t know how she does it!

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“I know I’ll get lost,” I told DH this morning, somewhat nervously. The truth was I was feeling reluctant about attending my first activity of the day – partly because it involved walking into a roomful of strangers, but I also wasn’t feeling particularly sociable at 8.45 in the morning.

I mean, who meets before 9am, other than high-powered working people? And Mums. Of course.

You know it’s coming at the start of every school year – and you know you should go to the meet-the-mums coffee morning. And it’s never as easy as just nattering with all the Mum friends you made last year, because the classes are mixed up each year – plus there are always several new arrivals to Dubai.

“You’ll find it,” responded DH, sleepily from bed. “Just use the compass on the car.” (like I even know where that is)

The movie of the book: I’m imagining Sex and the City’s Carrie with kids and letting herself go a bit. Hope I won’t be disappointed!

Needless to say, I had to be guided in by Host Mum, whose beautiful, enormous zillion-dirham villa was the venue for our first get-together of the term. Once inside, she led me to a table laden with baked treats and pastries – prepared, I suspect, at the same time as jigging her toddler, child #3, on her hip and flawlessly applying mascara.

I made a bee-line for Swiss Mum, who I knew from last year and always looks effortlessly chic in designer clothes. “I got here at 8am,” she confided, her bobbed hair framing her sun-kissed face perfectly. “Thought it was straight after school drop off.”

“Really?” I replied, thinking how come she didn’t get hopelessly lost in the rabbit warren like me?

Having missed the initial chit-chat, we were invited to sit in a circle by Class Mum, who last year voluntarily held drama classes for the kids and this year is the co-ordinator mum for, not just one, but three different classes.

And, as we took turns telling everyone a little bit about ourselves including what we ‘used to be’, I learnt that among our group – most of whom had moved here fairly recently from places such as Germany, Australia, Jordan and South Africa – there was a lawyer, a banker, a child-protection officer and a social worker.

But none of them working, because everyone had given up their careers to become a “trailing spouse” (ie, husband gets well-paid job in Dubai, wife and family pack their bags to follow).

Instead, they were setting up home in Dubai, caring for children full-time and protecting their kids like tigresses.

With the expat schools in the UAE all fee-paying, expectations are high so the conversation soon turned to the finer details of our children’s lives at the international school BB attends.

All very interesting, especially as when BB gets home he always tells me he did ‘nothing’ – and rather humbling, because, having got him on the school bus this year and gone straight back to work, I haven’t actually been into school yet this term. Never mind where the kids get changed for swimming, I’m not exactly sure where the new classroom is – and the teacher is still emailing my husband rather than me.

I nodded in agreement when the mums all promised to not try to outdo each other when it comes to our children’s birthday parties (while thanking my lucky stars that BB’s birthday is first so the stakes won’t be too high!) and tried to enter a debate about what kind of cupcakes it was OK to send in for the bake sales (note to self: will open my cupcakes-that-have-never-been-made folder this year).

And, as we discussed having a BBQ to get the Dads together, the Christmas party, fundraisers and playdates for younger siblings, I found myself thinking, “I really don’t know how these women do it!” Life is so much easier in the office, I swear.

PHOTO CREDITS: socialitelife.com; www.squidoo.com

Thank God it’s NOT Friday!

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Do you ever wake up on the first day of the weekend (Friday here in the UAE) and think, “How on earth am I going to keep the kids entertained for the next 14 hours?”

Pre-child pastimes such as lie-ins, long lunches and lazy afternoons a thing of the past, of course.

It’s honestly not that I’m a disinterested Mum – it’s because, when DH is gone at the weekend, the prospect of such a long stretch of unstructured time without breaks feels a little daunting – especially as our options are still limited due to the climate.

As my Scottish neighbour (who bravely stayed here all summer) put it the other day, “You can’t even go into the garden and dig a hole to pass the time.”

So when my human alarm clocks come bounding in on Friday mornings at 6.30am and prize my eyes open, I ask myself a few questions: Do I have a plan? Can I avoid taking the kids to the supermarket? And, if I lie really still and don’t talk, will they let me sleep some more?

The answer to all three this morning was no.

I’m happy to be a homebody (being cancerian, I guess) but this clearly isn’t compatible with two active boys who start climbing the walls by midday.

Long before that, I’m treated to a chorus that to mums everywhere is worse than the most irritating mobile ringtone.

“Mum-eeeee, MUM-EEEE, I’m bored,” whined BB shortly after I’d poured breakfast cereal into their bowls and all over the floor while still half asleep at 7.30am. “I said, I’m BORED.”

“Where are we going today?” (he knows full well I’ll have to think of something)

Mini Monsters on Sheik Zayed Road: And, yep, that is my oldest son about to point the shooter straight at me.

We could have gone swimming, of course, but today the energy needed for that on my part (BB swims like a fish, but LB can’t yet) was lacking due to a cold (yes, even in 40-degrees heat!). I’ve also been promising myself for ages that we’ll go to church – there’s a good expat church in a hotel near work apparently.

And the mall is always an option, though I go through phases of never wanting to see the inside of a mall again – not the shops, but the plastic playareas that are mainly populated by Filipino nannies rather than mums.

When the boys started moving furniture around and fighting over the of-no-interest-to-them-normally decorative cushions, it was time to evacuate the house and we ended up at Mini Monsters, which is actually rather growing on me as the kids love it and there’s wi-fi for mummy.

So it all worked out in the end. But if, on a Friday in future, you see a blonde with two boys in tow looking at you thinking, “She would be a nice Friday friend,” don’t assume I’m odd, because one of these weekends it could be you who’s in charge of the kids with no man and no plan.

Up the Burj Khalifa: A tall story

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When we lived in the States and used to do road trips along the east coast, from Florida to Virginia, I was always really intrigued by the detours you could take to see things like the world’s second largest ball of yarn and the biggest frying pan.

So, when the tallest building in the world was opened here in Dubai last year, I was keen to add another “tallest” to my list (being careful to let enough people go up before us to test the elevators, of course – especially after a group of terrified tourists got trapped 124 floors above the ground for almost an hour).

The first time we went up the Burj Khalifa was in the daylight; this week we took our first guest of the season to the top in the dark to see the sparkling lights of the city – in the hope that the ‘wow’ factor would make up for the fact that sightseeing right now is like wading around in a giant bowl of steaming hot soup.

I figured it had to be cooler up there – the tapering, silvery tower is almost one kilometre (0.6miles) high, after all. So high that during Ramadan, a cleric said Muslims living above the 80th floor should fast for longer because they could still see the sun after it had set on the ground.

Superlatives aside – highest occupied floor in the world, elevator with the longest travel distance, etc – it’s well worth visiting the outdoor observation deck. Called ‘At The Top’ (I’m not sure why, it’s actually about two-thirds of the way up), you’re high enough to look down on Dubai’s other ‘tall’ buildings and appreciate that everything else is dwarfed by the soaring skyscraper.

The boys loved it because the tiny cars on the ground look like toys and in the dark with their headlights on you get a great view of all the traffic, snaking its way along Dubai’s sprawling roads.

The elevator ride itself is quite an experience, bordering on sci-fi. You stand in a futuristic, darkened space and at first don’t even realise you’re moving. Then you spot the floor numbers rapidly rising and realise you’re climbing at speed – at 10 metres a second, in fact, which means the vertical ascent through 124 floors takes less than a minute – and, yes, your ears do pop!

STATS & FACTS

WINDOW CLEANING: Washing the tower’s 24, 348 windows takes 36 workers three to four months.

ON THE INSIDE: The building houses corporate suites, residential space, the Armani Hotel, 57 elevators, 8 escalators and nearly 3,000 stairs (it’s no wonder some of the people stranded up there last year, when a loud boom was heard and the lift broke, started to panic)

RECORDS SET: World’s highest mosque (158th floor); highest nightclub (144th floor); highest restaurant (At.mosphere on the 122nd floor); and second highest swimming pool (76th floor).

It's a loooong way down


SHOP AT THE TOP: Yes, you can spend money up there on mementos including a Lego Burj kit (pleeeeez Mummy, pleaded BB) and gold bars emblazoned with the Burj’s logo from ‘Gold to Go’ vending machines.

PRICE TAG: Tallest towers don’t come cheap: the total cost for the project was about $1.5 billion. The tower’s completion coincided with Dubai’s financial troubles, which led the emirate to seek multi-billion dollar bailouts from its oil-rich neighbour Abu Dhabi. Subsequently, in a surprise move at the opening ceremony, the tower, originally called Burj Dubai, was renamed Burj Khalifa to honour the UAE president.

CONTROVERSY: Sadly, though, its construction is marred with controversy over the working conditions of the army of labourers from South Asia who spent 22 million man-hours building the tower and somehow managed to pump concrete so high into the sky.

Inauguration on 4th Jan 2010

SHOWPIECE: On December 31st, spectacular fireworks, accompanied by lasers and lights, were set off from the Burj Khalifa, setting yet another world record – the highest New Year fireworks display in the world.

More information at: www.burjkhalifa.ae

Double deal: On having two homes

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There’s something I should reveal about expats in Dubai: we lead double lives.

Most of the year is spent in our adopted country, the place where we’ve made good friends, the kids go to school and we work, have pets and own a 4by4. And you can feel perfectly happy and settled there, until July – when you realise you could probably fry an egg on your car so off you go on your long summer sojourn to your other home.

During this time in the motherland, I’m always reminded just how much I love seeing family and old friends, how much I enjoy cooler air, greenery, more effective customer service, and people who understand what I’m saying.

There’s an initial period of adjustment, of course. A kind of reverse culture shock, where you have to get used to looking the other way to cross the road, taking a brolly ‘just in case’, knowing only two people in your childhood town and feeling a bit disconnected. But once you’ve settled in, your old life fits like a glove (helped along by the fact you’re there in summer not winter and everyone’s happy to see you after so long).

This means that, however much you enjoy the country you’ve moved to and also call ‘home’, returning to it after an extended holiday always evokes mixed emotions. As the plane takes off, you look forward to getting back to your own space, re-instating old (and easier) routines and no longer living out of a suitcase.

But there’s also sadness at leaving and guilt, too, because you’re taking the kids away from loving grandparents and extended family. You know you’ll miss family get-togethers and that Facebook doesn’t make up for not being there in person when things happen at home.

The exhilaration and impossibleness of cramming a year’s worth of socialising into one or two evenings with your oldest and dearest friends also leaves you wanting more.

Unless you’re a frequent flyer who jet sets regularly from one home to another, transitioning from one country to the other is never as easy as you think it should be.

Dubai International Airport: The first clue that everything's super-sized

Landing in Dubai after a prolonged stay away is also the only time you see the city through a tourist’s eye. The cavernous, marble-floored airport, with its elevators the size of my first flat, wall of water and endless shopping. The heat and humidity that hit you as you step outside. The crazy drivers on the six-lane highways and, outside our compound, the sandy dunes that stretch for as far as the eye can see, punctuated by desert shrubs and the odd tree.

Seeing camels by the roadside is a novelty again – as is coming across a bus shelter that looks like this:

Comfort zone: One of the city's air-conditioned, enclosed bus shelters, although if the air-con doesn't work they tend to turn into roadside ovens

The contrast between the two countries couldn’t be greater and it takes a few days to reacclimatise – to get back in the saddle. But soon it should cool down, and with some precious memories from the summer and the kids back to school today after the epic 11-week holiday, it feels good to be home with DH.

Did Saudi spot the moon too soon?

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With the UAE returning to work today (Sunday) following the Eid holidays, I’m hoping I’ll have better luck chasing some of my late payers for the bits and pieces of freelance work I’ve done lately.

I had a go at getting paid during Ramadan, the quiet month of fasting, during which workers enjoyed reduced hours, and was told, ‘Sorry we took three weeks to get back to you, everyone’s tired.’

Not surprising, I suppose. But now that it’s business as usual, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the staff at this particular company are in a more productive mood.

Eid, which marks the end of Ramadan, started last Tuesday, after the Moon-Sighting Committee spotted the new crescent moon.

Rather like Christmas or Thanksgiving, it’s a celebratory time for Muslims, with gifts, good food and family visits. Homes are decked out with lights and this year there were fireworks, concerts, carnivals and magic shows.

But, unlike British or American holidays, you never quite know when the days off are going to fall – because Islamic holidays such as Eid that are based on the sighting of the moon are not announced until the night before. Which is why towards the end of Ramadan you’ll find me and my friends gazing skywards going ‘C’mon moon! We know you’re there.’ For workers, you literally leave the office not knowing if you’ll be back the next day.

This year, Saudi Arabia announced the start of Eid at around 8.15pm on Monday evening, with the UAE following suit shortly after. Interestingly, though, there’s an unconfirmed rumour that the Saudis got the timing wrong. Some people are questioning whether the Saudi Moon-Sighting Committee in fact mistook Saturn for the crescent moon.

If this is true or not, I don’t know, as I also read that these days the calculations are done largely by computer, rather than by eye, and that neighbouring countries work together to agree on when holidays are declared. Whether Eid did kick off a day early or not, I hope all our Muslim friends enjoyed the festivities!

A treat for our taste buds
Over here in England, I’ve been in a celebratory mood, too, with the climax of my holiday – my oldest and dearest friend’s 40th birthday. She invited us to ‘tumble down the rabbit hole’ with her at a Mad Hatter’s tea party at a London hotel and I wanted to include a photo as it was truly a gastronomic adventure.

The hazelnut praline ice cream lollipops literally exploded in our mouths and the blueberry lollipops were designed to turn your tongue from hot to cold. But the best thing was the bizarre concoction in the enticing-looking bottle labelled ‘Drink Me’. Each sip actually delivered a totally different taste, starting with apple pie, then turning to lemon curd, and ending with English toffee.

We went from this wonderful potion to a cocktail-making lesson later, followed by cocktail drinking and merriment. A great night and a fantastic end to my English summer.

Back to the sandpit
Today I’m packing for sandier pastures and remembering how travel is so much easier if you’re five and don’t have to think about anything. BB appeared with the most enormous box of Lego, thinking it would miraculously transport itself back to Dubai. So I’ve given him his own suitcase to carry, which he WILL be responsible for!

Meanwhile, my mind is boggling at all the passports I’m juggling – look at this ridiculous number, and these are just mine and the kids’ (citizens of both the US and the UK). So if you hear about a tired-looking blonde with two small boys holding up the queue in the arrivals hall at Dubai airport tomorrow, that’ll be me.

One or two are expired but still have valid visas in them, so I need to keep tabs on the lot.

A revelation: On discovering that people can be any age, shape or size

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Silver expats don

BB has noticed, since being in England, that there are a large number of grannies who aren’t just on a two-week holiday, but actually live here.

It’s a reminder that society in Dubai is sharply skewed towards younger people: families with small kids, older children and teens, and 20-somethings who’ve moved to Dubai to work hard and play hard at the city’s bars and beach clubs.

There are no communities of grey-haired grannies living the good life in Dubai. Aside from issues such as the high cost of living, frenetic pace of life and the heat, it’s tricky to obtain a residency visa once you’re 60 years old. So expats in the UAE have two choices: to repatriate to their home country or become a ‘rebound expat’ and choose another country, such as Cyprus, Spain or Portugal, in which to retire.

So it’s always nice – and very refreshing – to see the full range of society on our trips to England. And that leads me to something else BB has spotted: the fact that there are a fair few people here who are, shall we say, rather portly.

Dubai, in comparison, is geared up for thin people, from the smaller clothing sizes for the Asian worker population to the size10 svelte image aspired to by Jumeirah Janes.

JJ might even consider surgery to keep up with the ladies she lunches with three times a week

In an attempt to lose some baby weight, I joined a Weight Watchers-type group in the UAE and as we sat sipping skinny lattes in the Art Cafe, I realised it was the slimmest group of slimmers I’d ever seen. I swear no-one was bigger than a size 14.

The downside of BB realising that obesity is common in the UK is he’s also noticed my still-not-what-it-once-was tummy.

“Is there a baby inside?” he asked the other day, his eyes wide with horror.

“Nooooooo,” I screeched indignantly. “Absolutely not. Never. Ever. Again.”

He blames the fact I don’t race around the whole time pretending to be a train, like he does. I blame my mum’s delicious apple and raspberry crumble, with custard of course, which I’ve become rather partial to this holiday.

So, now, because it’s so light in the evenings here, I do what BB calls my evening exercise. I don my exercise shoes – not quite trainers but shoes I can power walk in – and do two laps round the park. It’s not much, but I’m hoping it’ll keep me from acquiring slummy mummy status while on my summer hols.

Extreme Shopping: Could Brits in Dubai become copy-cat rioters?

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Picture the scene: looters running across the marble floor of the Mall of the Emirates, heading for Harvey Nicks. When done there, making their way across the city on the Metro to rampage around the Dubai Mall, helping themselves to cushions and lampshades at Galleries Lafayette. Then hot footing it to the Gold Souk for some free bling.

It doesn’t sound very plausible, does it?

I was fascinated to read today that a top UAE police official has warned that “What happens in Britain could happen here,” citing the large expatriate worker population.

He went on to tell Reuters that Dubai police were monitoring social media sites such as Twitter and Facebook for signs of attempts to organise protests or strikes.

Now, nothing has appeared on my Facebook wall yet and I doubt it will because my Dubai friends are either too busy entertaining their kids during the long summer holiday, or are travelling at the moment – and the last time I looked, none of my friends in the UAE were sporting hoodies.

If there are any troublesome Brits looking for a fight in Dubai (you do go totally stir crazy indoors over the summer, after all), they should read up on the Dubai Police first. As Annabel Kantaria, one of my favourite bloggers at Expat Telegraph, points out: it may be a coincidence, but since the London riots, the English-language media in Dubai has published a slew of articles on the Dubai Police, including how they’re equipped to deal with any riots and how, if negotiation fails, they have special electric truncheons that can stun up to 100 people at a time.

Wow, we’ve been warned!

Certainly, the expat community in Dubai is huge: 80 per cent of the population, in fact. But to think that hooligan Brits might start rioting in the UAE is rather far-fetched. To put it bluntly, chavs don’t move to Dubai, and with year-round sunshine, a tax-free salary and so many other benefits to the ‘expat lifestyle’, most Brits in Dubai are perfectly content with their lot.

This is not to say that there aren’t people in Dubai who would, with good reason, revolt. Asian labourers, mostly from the Indian subcontinent, have held strikes in the past over poor wages and bad conditions. But British teenagers breaking off from their tennis lessons and pool parties to have a pop, I don’t think so.

Quite tempting, no?

Gold Souk credit: http://www.dubai-information-site.com