the stress of moving house Archives - Circles in the SandCircles in the Sand

So, I mentioned the other day that there are some maintenance issues with the villas we’ve moved into. Happens all over Dubai with new builds – concrete gets poured down drains and sets; pipes aren’t properly connected, that kind of thing.

Our biggest problem has been the water supply; the water upstairs spurts out the taps in fits and starts, surges like a fountain, then slows to a trickle before drying up completely – just as you’re standing naked in the shower, semi-blind with shampoo stinging your eyes and soap lathered all over you. Stop laughing at the back!

I’ve called maintenance numerous times, and days ago gave up hope that the man with a mysterious blue watering-can might fix the problem.

Then on Friday, a breakthrough. After telling maintenance till I was blue in the face that I hadn’t used a drop of water for two hours (as they’d requested), a slow realisation dawns on his face.

“Ma’am, big leak,” says the handy man. His eyebrows snap together and he spreads his arms wide to indicate the size of the problem.

Right, now we’re getting somewhere, I think. Hallelujah!

We walk round to the other side of the pump room, and he stops still, staring. “You must move all these bricks. I work on this wall…”

You’ve got to be kidding? I think.

The serious look on his face suggests he isn’t, and I imagine the Dewa bill in horror.

“Erm, I don’t think I can move them all myself,” I say (it’s still over a hundred degrees outside, and even without any exertion, it’s exhausting being outdoors).

Blank stare.

“Where’s boss?” he asks.

“If you mean my husband, he’s away,” I say. I want to say that that’s what our husbands do – they fly away and leave us to deal with @*@$ like this, because by now – faced with the mountain of bricks, the heat and intermittent water – I’m feeling really mean-spirited, even though I know my dear DH has done everything he possibly can to make this a smooth move.

We agree I can’t move the bricks, and he’ll come back tomorrow after I’ve got our gardeners back to shift them. (‘How to Train Your Gardeners’ – it’s coming soon, to Dubai cinemas!)

The next day, a small army of maintenance men show up. They dig and drill, and it feels like the mechanical whine is going off in my head, and then they beckon us round looking triumphant. “Fixed,” says the head man with a megawatt smile, pointing at a pipe under ground.

They turn the water back on.

WHOOSH! The pipe promptly bursts and the men all start shouting at each other.

It’s now two days later, still not fixed, and I think they’re all on Eid holiday.

This too shall pass, right? Like a kidney stone. But it will pass.

“So what do you think?” I asked, gazing at the lounge walls in our empty new villa. The smell of fresh paint tickled my nostrils as I waited for DH’s response.

I’d gone for three different colours (green, charcoal and beige; it’s a large room!) – a sort of tricolour effect, and he was either going to love it or hate it.

“Very nice.” DH’s eyes flickered from wall to wall. “Three colours … I see.”

So I gave him the spiel I always give him in these situations, which I’d learnt from my mother-in-law: “If you have a creative wife, you just have to say THANK GOD and let her get on with it!” I smiled and hustled him upstairs to see his office, where we’d settled on just two ‘manly’ colours.

Not an accurate depiction of the blogger (I paid a nice man to paint)

I walked back into the spacious living room with its views of the park area outside, and felt far more positive about moving than I did when we got the eviction email four months ago. Something about the blank canvas around me made me feel calmer and more in control of my life than I’d felt in weeks. Left alone in our quiet, cloud-like space, I soaked up the peacefulness.

We moved in over the next two hot and sweaty days. Once all the bulky items had bumped their way into position, a procession of smaller boxes marched in, until finally the packers left and we closed the door. As the last truck rolled away, I stood in the living room and surveyed the now cluttered space. I’d started feeling a little deflated. The dusty scent of cardboard had replaced the smell of fresh paint. There were piles of boxes stacked against the walls, and instead of straight, linear lines and open space, there was mess and bubble wrap strewn around (the boys wanted to keep it to pop).

The day was fading to dusk and I flicked the light switches by the door. So many light switches. It would take days to learn what they all did. I padded around – my flip-flops slapping against the floor – and did some more unpacking, sorting, moving things around, trying to bring some order to the chaos.

The next day I loved the house again, then the day after I fell out with it again. A strange smell was emanating from the bathrooms, and aware of stories from fellow residents about pipes not being connected, things falling off walls, water leaks and even electrical fires, I made our first call (of many) to maintenance.

Let’s just say I’ve got to know maintenance pretty well since then. Fair’s fair, they’re fixing things fast, although the blank stare you get when you’re trying to make yourself understood – followed by the nod which confirms you’re talking at cross purposes – just kills me!

Once our taps, which are currently like mini dancing Dubai fountains with varying water pressures, surges and stoppages, are fixed, I think we’re nearly there …

My verdict: I love the house!

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