Fraility of Work

Unemployment, redundancy, lay-offs and downsizing are all things that I had hoped to be waving goodbye to when the plane took off in Ireland two years ago, destined for the Middle East. 

Tired of staring unemployment in the face in Ireland, Abu Dhabi was sure to provide more palatable sights.   To the untrained eye,  it does.  On my initial weeks in Abu Dhabi,  I viewed the moving sales including house contents and bargain 4 x 4’s as a happy side effect of expats leaving to go home,  their time punched in.  I viewed the places that suddenly became available in the school as a stroke of luck, the right place at the right time.  Life just fell into place.    It wasn’t until I saw the notice up outside the pool area, displaying my friend’s fuchsia pink leather armchair and matching footstool for sale that I began to suspect that all was not what it seemed.  After all, she loved that chair.    We hadn’t been in contact for almost two weeks,  she had declined a lunch offer, and I should have known something was up because she loved lunch too.

Two pots of tea and a box of mansize tissues later I pat her back uselessly as she sobs, completely inconsolable.  Her husband was working his one-month notice, he had worked late and arrived early his efforts had paid off, the job was coming to a close.  They had moved from Dublin 8 months previous and like every Irish that first arrived, planned to stay three or four years tops and arrive home, tanned, monied and ready to re-enter the rejuvenated Irish economy.   Their situation was fraught with problems. Unable to return to Ireland as their home was being rented out, although the rent didn’t cover the mortgage repayment, it was keeping the bank off their backs.  Walking out on Abu Dhabi wasn’t easy either, given that rent is paid up a year in advance, and the school fees were paid for coming term.  Unfortunately when they read their contract fully it was clear that it was drafted in favour of the employer and not the employee.  Leaving Abu Dhabi mid-year and thus breaking their house and car lease agreements would incur a significant loss, placing them in a worse situation that they were in eight months ago when they arrived.  Along with being unsettling to the point of being sickening but the uncertainty was causing both herself and her husband serious stress.  I could do, I bought the fuchsia pink armchair which was more reflective of the luxury  and organized a leaving night out.

The leaving night turned into a ‘we found a new job and we’re staying after all” night and it was here that my eyes were well and truly opened and any shred of naivety that I had when I entered the stylish Italian restaurant, didn’t accompany me homeq2.   Each of the eleven women at the table had a similar story, some had moved jobs three or four times during their time in Abu Dhabi, others had tales of new jobs in Dubai, Qatar and Saudi being cancelled minutes before they embarked the flight.   Where’s the loyalty?  I asked, the answer was resounding; there was not loyalty when working for Middle Eastern companies.   “We’ve stopped making long term plans”, said one, “I just live for the day”, said another. The companies hire and fire with no thought for effects that their reckless behavior is having on families.   Promises of large salaries, bonuses and a family friendly lifestyle go out the door when the project is over budget and the costs saving tactics are ruthless.  The frailty of work offers a shaky foundation on which to build a fabulous but fragile life in a country that is designed to take back every penny that it gives leaving Irish expats in a no-win situation.  The only saving grace to this uncertain system is that in the Middle East, there is no stigma attached to being made redundant and it’s just as easy to pick up another fabulous but fragile job down the road.  

A note to all thinking of travelling to the Middle East, check your contract, check your contract and while in living in the Middle East enjoy your time on the fuchsia pink leather armchair with matching footstool, it might not always be yours!

Best of Both

Oblivious to the geography of the United Arab Emirates, it wasn’t until it was to become my home that I discovered that Dubai is just a one hour drive from Abu Dhabi.  It may be misleading to say they’re an hour apart, when the 5-laned E11 highway that links Abu Dhabi to Dubai provides an express route and 140kms speed limit which makes the 120 kilometer distance possible in a one hour period.  Not comparable at all to a one hour drive in Ireland which would be Gort to Galway, a mere 41km distance or Clonakilty to Cork, 63kms.   The choice to live in either Dubai or Abu Dhabi is a decision that every expat must make before pitching their tent in the U.A.E.

Dubai is home to the massive and impressive Dubai Mall, along with the Burj Khalifa, the only 7 Star Hotel in the world, the Burj Al Arab, Mall of the Emirates, the exclusive Jumeriah Beach Residence area and several other jaw-dropping sights.  Only in Dubai is a gold dispensing machine plonked in the middle of a mall, treated as par. Along with being the glamorous host for several launches, events and concerts, Dubai has everything to offer for luxurious living.  Thus explains the large huge number of expatriates living in Dubai and travelling every day to work in Abu Dhabi,  availing of the slightly lower accommodation prices of Dubai in comparison to Abu Dhabi a side effect of over-development in the good times and low occupancy in the economically challenging period at present.  The general perception of Dubai is that it’s more suited to the social high flyers and singletons, it is the leading choice when taking a holiday to the Middle East or spending a year out teaching P.E. in the sun, tax-free, it’s also true that Dubai provides the most westernized destination in the UAE coupled with all the good service and novelty of living in the Middle East, it truly is fantastic.         `                                                                              

On the flip side, Abu Dhabi appears to be the city of choice for families.  As expat families arrive in the UAE most of the families decided on Abu Dhabi as their locality of choice.   Leafier suburbs together with a very accessible city gives Abu Dhabi a more homely feel than Dubai and while the architecture in the city is a lot older, the infrastructure and road network is based on a grid system and is easily negotiable.   “An established area that offers no surprises but is unrivalled in its consistency of 5 star luxury across the board, a safe pair of hands for you and your family ”, would be the by-line if Abu Dhabi were for sale. The skyline along the Corniche is studded with famous landmarks, overlooking the fabulously appointed Marian Mall across the water.   As the social butterflies of Dubai trail to Abu Dhabi every day to work, somewhere along the E11 Highway they pass by some of the large number of expats living in Abu Dhabi and working in Dubai,  allowing their families to enjoy the easy lifestyle of Abu Dhabi while they strive to heady heights of careerdom in Dubai.   Alternatively, everyday disheveled looking dads-of-three drive their Nissan Tiida’s from Abu Dhabi to Dubai, while wifey at home has the long wheeled base Pajero so the kids won’t get crushed on the school run in a regular sedan.  Bleary eyed from night feeds, he can barely see the bright lights of the two door coupes and special edition Hummers, driven by the high rollers of Dubai coming to the sleepy hollow for the day, with hair gelled and cufflinks shone, bleary eyed from the night before of scoffing sushi and champers in a 6 star somewhere along the Deira Creek, the high rollers don’t notice the diligent family folk and plough past, almost blasting the Tiida’s off the road.

On arrival in the U.A.E. the decision to opt for Dubai or Abu Dhabi was mine.   At first the decision looked a no-brainer.   I was after I had always fancied myself as a bit of a high roller.  It would be all sushi and champers for me.   On further analysis and taking the three children and the goldfish into consideration, the cards were on the table, I was surprised to realise that I was no longer the party type, I was Abu Dhabi bound and not alone that but I was the wifey doing the school run.  Thankfully the “highway to heaven” is just outside my door, and on my bi-weekly escape from safe, suffocating, suburbia, I hit cruise control, sit back and think, maybe I’ve the best of both worlds!

The Beautiful Confidence

Each week I write about what’s important to me, what features in my life in the Middle East and what tweaks my interest. This week Madonna coming to Abu Dhabi on 3^rd June was important to me.   I was halfway through a most witty analysis of the arrival of  the fifty-something year old star to Abu Dhabi and the nearly over-the-hill Material Girl patronage that looked forward to being pivoted back to the eighties for a few hours, until I heard bad news from Doha which made even Madge seem unimportant.

We hear bad news all the time. Earthquakes, Floods, Fires, accidents but sometimes it’s not until you have a connection to the location, situation or victim that reality hits home.   Hearing the news of the fire in Villaggio Shopping Mall in Doha was one of those times for me.    The fire which is reported to have broken out in the crèche area of the up market Qatari shopping mall, resulted in the death of six adults and thirteen young children including 2 year old New Zealand Triplets and 3 Spanish children from one family.  

Shopping malls in the Middle East provide a dual function, the primary function being the obvious, a collection of shops under one roof, cafes supermarkets, entertainment facilities etc. The second function and possibly a function which only expats across the Middle East can fully appreciate is that these massive malls provide shelter from the harsh elements and refuge from the coarse Arabic landscape, a cool breeze in a climate that has extreme temperatures.  Along with facilities and cover, they offer their expat patrons a taste of the western world.  When everything seems unfamiliar and foreign the sight of  Starbucks,  Marks & Spencer’s & H&M are soothingly familiar, the names and presence of these brands inspire confidence in far-from-home expats.   Villaggio in Doha gave all of this and more.

Villaggio, located on Al Waab Street in the west end of the city and one of the chosen venues for the World Cup 2022, is home to an average of forty thousand visitors daily, and a footfall of over one million people each month.  Villaggio is over 360 000sq m and  boasts a dedicated mall area of 150 000 sq m, , providing 50 000 sq m of world class shopping, 15 000 sq m of luxury brands and 3300 car parking slots, Villaggio is equipped to comfortably meet the demands of every visitor.  In addition, Villaggio is the most sought after destination in Qatar for top of the line luxury brands including Louis Vuitton, Christian Dior, Gucci, Prada and Dolce & Gabbana.  Its Venetian styled interiors combine with an astonishing range of shopping dining and entertainment venues to make it a unique and unforgettable attraction in Qatar; one that no visitor could afford to miss. The décor is not the only unique feature of Villaggio. Originally the brainchild of is His Highness Sheikh Jassim Bin Hamad, developers aimed for something unique in the retail market to distinguish the venue from all competitors locally and regionally.  The agreed on an Italian themed mall with a river as the focal point, upon which real gondolas took visitors on a scenic tour through the mall. The water feature was set to be the main attraction, the point which would distinguish Villaggio from other shopping malls, a point which is now doused in irony and tinged with bitterness as reports show that the sprinkler system malfunctioned.

“Enter Villaggio and be transported to another world; to place of timeless charm, where beauty, joy, and good food are a way of life”…  is the byline and having lived in Doha for almost two years and spent many hours and days occupying the Villaggio mall I can say with certainty that it delivers all that. It is one of the most luxurious malls not alone in Doha, but in the Middle East and possibly the world.   Villaggio and shopping malls of that caliber offer more than shopping and shelter; it instilled a confidence in the patrons.   Confidence that in the plush surroundings, there is an equally plush maintenance and safety system, being operated backstage and that like front of house where everything runs smoothly and efficiently,  in the background, someone has your back and that your safety is being considered and looked after.    I always strode though the mall beautifully confident in the security of the seamless surroundings, a perfect material world, not like the real world where things went wrong.

The devastating news of the tragic deaths of thirteen children and six adults rattles this confidence to the point where it’s broken and replaced by uncertainty and even worse, fear.   So, goodbye to the beautifully innocent victims, goodbye to their beautiful futures dreamt by their families and goodbye to the beautiful confidence.

denisehession@gmail.com

Censored!

Pornography, gambling and anything deemed to the inconsistent with the political, religious, cultural or moral values of the country is censored in the UAE.  Censorship is practiced in the UAE throughout all the media communications. 

Not having a global outlook on the overall effects of censorship on a nation, the limitations are not of huge consequence to myself, in fact the restrictions are nearly a welcome guest when raising two pre-teens with associated addictions to their lap-tops and all things online.

I can understand the irritation caused, when watching a blockbuster and the dialogue goes silent or when at the slightest hint of a steamy scene or nude clip the screen goes blank.  Certainly a step further than the TV censorship of old where the dad takes the remote and switches channel for few minutes in order to allow the offending images to pass.   Or the total ban on certain movies, like Brokeback Mountain, again not a massive problem for me as I don’t do cowboys anyway.     All online gambling including dating and relationship websites are also banned.  Again, duly married and not at present seeking extra-curricular stimulation this does not pose a problem for me.   It is however good to know that arranged marriage websites are not banned, ironic, as surely an arranged marriage is the biggest gamble of the lot!

Oblivious, dis-interested and unaffected by censorship, I continued on with normal life in Abu Dhabi.  My long awaited internet connection installed and a strong signal for Wi-Fi coursing through the house I felt secure in the knowledge that the world (if I wanted it) was once again just a few taps of the keyboard away.   It was February 14^th, the most important day of my year, my son’s first birthday.  Humming with contentment as I busied myself creating the perfect baby bash for my little tot, I started preparation of the party food from scratch.   I designed and discussed every detail of the birthday cake I wanted for my young son, with the lady who makes the cakes.   I carefully chose from the costliest delicatessen, the choicest of hors d’oerves for the adult attendees.  I defrosted the Irish cocktail sausages specially smuggled from Shannon and I selected the ingredients for my own handmade contribution, a 750g box of Kellogg’s Rice Krispies and two large bars of Swiss cooking chocolate.   Business was brisk, preparations were running smooth and the baby was strapped into his buggy in order keep his clothes clean for the party and for family and friends in Ireland, who would be dialing in to share in the celebrations.  Eager to project the perfect happy family images together with the one hundred mini Rice Krispie buns handmade by myself, I set up the computer and logged on to Skype.

All was ready, the cake was delivered, the balloons floated tall above the heads of my little boys group of friends, Connor, Lauren, Maggie and Johnny,  all chosen by me to represent the perfect cross-section of multi-cultural, racial and religious backgrounds.  I like to call this steering his future not controlling his environment. 

Turning to Skype I pressed the call button, the connection was patchy, making the sound unclear and the picture frequently freezing.  Perhaps it was version of Skype, keying in the web address, skype.com a screen came up, “This site is blocked”,  I turned to Viber, “This site is blocked” , censorship was ruining my party, sorry, baby’s party.  Unwilling to pay the equivalent of a trip to Mauritius to phone Ireland from my Abu Dhabi mobile, I dropped the idea.

I since found out that Skype to Skype calls have only been permitted in the UAE since 2010 and the functionality to dial an outside line from the internet is prohibited, a fact that wouldn’t have stopped me pirating a program if it wasn’t broadcast earlier this week that a man was deported because he was calling Bangladesh via the internet.   Confident that the same rule applies to those ringing Ballycotton or Bantry,  I used my iphone to track a vendor in Umm AL Narr that sold international calling cards –how eighties!  Next we’ll be back listening to Smokie and drinking Harp!.

Frozen out by Facebook

Four weeks into my new life in Abu Dhabi and the dust has settled.  Life has gained a momentum in the way that life always seems to.  Many acquaintances made by the playground or the school gates, “school gates” being a metaphorical symbol for the sandy car park, home to scores of 4×4’s every morning and afternoon at pick up and drop off.   Many acquaintances but no friends.   Lots of suggestions but no invites.   Always the same line, “I’ll post the details on the wall”, every day, I go to the notice board in the clubhouse, but no notice.   “There’s a wine and cheese night coming up, I’ll post the details on the wall”,  “Hey, we’re organizing a recipe evening, I’ll post the details”.  Every day I look, but only see the same few outdated notices, nothing current, a cluster of coloured pins in the corner remain untouched. 

Being a social butterfly and having always relied on the company of other women to give me the illusion of sanity while on hiatus for a few hours from my family, I began to yearn for female company.     The situation finally came to a head when earlier this week when my neighbour held a social morning at her home and hadn’t posted and hadn’t invited me. 

Peeking through the curtainless windows so as to spy on the goings on across the road, I firstly noticed that at least twelve young mothers were chatting animatedly whilst taking their babies and associated apparel inside.  Many had tin foiled trays and some had Tupperware containers, what was this?  A full blown party, without Moi?!   Secondly, I noticed that from the outside I may have looked a little ridiculous peeking without a curtain to provide shield, so I did what any Irish woman with a problem would do, I opened the front door and took the sweeping brush and started to brush the floor vehemently.  “Hi, are you all set, did you see the notice?”, shouted a voice from across the road.  “Oh I’m fine”, I replied, applying undue pressure to the handle of the brush, “Carry on with ye’re get-together”, I shouted back as I continued to sweep the floor with growing vigour.  The voice crossed the road and reiterated, “Are you joining us”, enough was enough, I set the brush to one side and divulged my frustration at the lack of notices and general arrangements.    It was then that she pointed out that all arrangements and notices are posted on facebook. 

That was it, I was being frozen out by Facebook.   I should have guessed, quickly making myself presentable and wiping the excess mushed banana from my baby’s hair, I skipped across the road and was greeted with a warm welcome by all.   Indulging in the female company and delighting in the diverse discussions I enquired as to the upcoming events, to which I received the reply, “It’s all on facebook, have a look”.   Bravely, I stood up ( mentally, I actually stayed sitting) and said, “I’m not on facebook,  can someone email me about upcoming events?   A deflated tone washed over the group and after much mumbling the general consensus was that no-body was willing to take the time to email and a text message seemed to be out of the question.   I sat for the rest of the time listening in to conversations about what was on facebook, someone’s new photos or a cryptic comment that someone posted.  

So here’s where it’s at , in order to find out what’s going on around the corner I need to be on facebook.  Being an active anti-facebooker, I can vouch that more and more of real life is being channeled through facebook, almost as if it is becoming the conduit for communication with all other avenues slowly being shut down.   Many businesses are advertising only on facebook while others are providing offers and discounts for patrons who “like” them.

Staunch in my position I will refrain from communicating my life via facebook, however, nose to the glass and out in the cold, even in a small community in sunny Abu Dhabi, I can feel the nip, brrrrrr

Non-Muslim Section

“Non-Muslim Section” the sign read.  Being non-Muslim and human, I just had to take a look behind the beaded streamers at the rear of the local supermarket.

Coming from the fairly stringent Muslim society of Doha, the slightly more liberal laws of Abu Dhabi were welcome.  Since arrival in Abu Dhabi four weeks ago, it has become evident that in many areas the ratio of Expat to Emiratis is more equal than expats to Qataris, which possibly has the side effect of diluting the Middle Eastern culture and shaping a new Arab society with a western twist.

So although the Muslim culture is still very much alive and kicking, Abu Dhabi has accommodated western culture and beliefs to a small degree at least. Shoulders still need to be covered and knees should also be kept under wraps for ladies heading out.  Alcohol is still only available in select hotel bars with alcohol shops requiring a liquor license; however, it is not always requested, as it was in Qatar, and so the rule is not as strict.   There are ways around sponsorship which enable you to stay in the country after ceasing employment and there is no agreement in place which prevents moving employment from one company to another within Abu Dhabi.   The nightlife in Abu Dhabi is a lot more diverse with ladies nights and happy hours available in a lot of the hotels. So, aware of the little pockets of opportunity available to express our Non-Muslim religion, I was intrigued to see the sign “Non-Muslim Only” in the local supermarket.   Having a vivid imagination and a natural curiosity for what goes on behind closed doors, or in this case, plastic beads, I couldn’t wait to see behind the curtain in the section that was off limits to my Muslim counterparts.

I decided to drop the kids home and come back alone later for a proper look, after all, liberal as I considered myself to be, I didn’t want to expose the children to multi person sex acts being performed by feral Christians in the back of the supermarket, or a smoke filled casino frequented by a handful of clapped out Catholics, down in the mount and down in their luck, angry and aggressive at their growing losses.  Whatever was behind curtain, I would experience alone, when the kids were in the bed.

Later that evening, inquisitiveness high and mind wide open, I got ready to go back to the supermarket.   Mentally running through the possibilities and deciding if I would partake or not, rows of slot machines and roulette tables, not for me,  pole dancing pagans to uncut Eminem, maybe, key parties with wall to wall mattresses areas, I dabbed on a spot of perfume just in case.  Walking through the doors of the supermarket, I thought it a good idea to linger behind the well appointed fruit stand for a while to get a look at the kind of clientele going in and out.   Behind the stand of massive African imported yellow bananas, I got a good view of the beads and from what I could see it was mostly young to middle aged professional men, walking in an out with ties loosened as they mopped their brows before entering the den.  Tension rose and I found I began to falter, but it was time I bit the bullet and entered the lair.

Sweeping the beaded curtain to the side with an air of tentative caution and bubbling excitement, I squinted my eyes before opening wide and taking in the full view before me.  This was what separated Muslims from Non Muslim right before my eyes was German, Polish, Irish, Australian, American, English and French, Pork Sausages, stacked neatly by order of country in refrigerated display units.   Turning to inspect the other side of the area, I saw ham and pineapple pizza, pork chops, ham joints, rashers, gammon steaks you name it was in it.  This den was filthier than any Muslim could ever imagine.  A real find.  Finally the laws were bending to accommodate us piggy lovin’ people. I felt accepted, acknowledged.  So then, with the full fare available, I went home and had chicken.

End

denisehession@gmail.com

Off the Grid

Three weeks in Abu Dhabi and the novelty of living life “off the grid” is wearing off.   Having no internet connection, no postal address and no clue of where I’m going or coming from whilst driving around did hold certain attraction for me at first.   That first few days living in glorious isolation cut off from the rest of the world, with nothing, apart from TV and a mobile phone and a built-in sat nav in Arabic, were sheer bliss.  Without access to my email and my trusty accomplice, Google, I was excited that my new state, would prove liberating and I had planned using the time to develop other communicative and informative resources, like reading maps, conversation and telephoning friends.

Having been accused by my family several times of being addicted to my baby, sorry laptop, I was as eager to prove them wrong, as I was to prove to myself that I could live without internet connection (for a limited period ).  I would like to point out that no-one in my family has ever accused me of being addicted to the hoover, the iron or the dishwasher, despite me spending an equivalent amount of time using these. 

Not naïve to the invaluable attributes possessed by the internet, I lodged my application with Etisalat, Abu Dhabi’s telecom company, the efficient sounding assistant, guaranteed connection within five to seven days,  I felt satisfied that my experimental isolation period would be complete by then and that normal communication would resume.  

By the end of week one, I was proud of my achievement to have survived without internet. I learned that map reading was not my forte. I also learned that I had forgotten how to just sit and read a book, I kept glancing the right of the page expecting “Living Social deals in your area” to pop up, or “take a personality test in just 3 mins”.  However, I was most surprised when I realised that this was the first time in years, I had knocked on a neighbours door.   While internet connection was keeping up to the date with my online life, I wondered was it in fact isolating me from real life? With no Wi-Fi available in any of the cafes or malls that I hadn’t missed the turn for, I now felt cleansed of any previous addiction and was keen to start fresh, wean myself slowly back online. I had gone cold turkey and was ready to come back. Telephoning Etisalat, the polite assistant confirmed that they had my application and it will be five to seven days.  

By the end of week two, I was showing acute signs of withdrawal I had taken to bringing my iphone around the compound at night to pick up on any unlocked broadband signals.  I felt tetchy if I couldn’t get out and irritable with poor or low connectivity alerts.    Then I found it, in Zone 6 “Ahmed  Jufeiri – Unsecured Wireless Network – Connectivity excellent”.  Like heroin to an addict, I felt the euphoria as I clicked on my inbox and saw, “downloading message 1 of 57”.  What a high, back online.  Reading the two messages that weren’t spam, I felt satisfied that my online life was in order. Telephoning Etisalat, the annoying assistant confirmed that they had my application and it will be five to seven days.

Week three wasn’t pretty, two residents in Zone 6 complained about a woman lurking around suspiciously at night and one day there was 14 litres of milk in the fridge, each litre an excuse to leave the house and log on.  With my shaking hand, telephoning Etisalat, the absolutely useless assistant confirmed that they had my application and it will be five to seven days.

Now entering week four, numbness has set in.  I check my email every day outside the house in Zone 6 and the people on that street, now bring their children inside when they see me coming.  Curtains are pulled and blinds are drawn. My inbox is up-to-date with nothing significant and yet I yearn to be back in the fold.  Hollow, I phone Etisalat, the voice confirms that they had my application, I will have connection tomorrow.  What is left of me, whispers – Hurray!

End

denisehession@gmail.com

Desperate Housewives

Coming from Doha, entering Abu Dhabi I feel like Dorothy clicking her red heeled shoes to change life from black and white to colour.  The landscape is a lot greener a nice change from the monotonous beige of dusty Doha.

Choice of accommodation for expats across the Middle East falls into three categories, a stand-alone house, a compound or an apartment, often company owned and used mostly for hunters living alone and sending every brass dirham back home faster than a hare in a hunt.  The stand-alone houses tend to be relatively large and often don’t have a swimming pool, as they are largely occupied by Arabs, for whom the novelty of having an outdoor pool has long since worn off.  Having lived in a stand alone in Doha I can confirm that the term has two meanings the house itself is unattached to another and is not part of a community, estate or compound.  The second meaning is that the inhabitants also “stand alone” in that without the support of a community or accessible neighbours, life in a stand-alone can be isolating and end up with the occupants writing details of their life story for weekly publication in order to reach the outside world.  Thus, moving to Abu Dhabi I decided to live in a large compound. 

Prior to my immigration to the Middle East I had expressed revolt to living in a compound. On hindsight it was possibly the word “compound” that was the deterrent and not necessarily the conditions.  The industrial sounding word does not lend itself to the often beautiful man-made, landscaped, well-serviced areas, which at home are called housing estates.

The search for the perfectively appointed compound began and agreed upon and despite me having viewed the website and online photographs many times, they still hadn’t prepared me for the sight of entering the gates of compound and our new home at Sas Al Nahkl, Abu Dhabi.   Mount Oval on speed. That is if Mount Oval had a heated/chilled outdoor swimming pool, state of the art clubhouse with everything from sprung floors to squash courts and fully equipped gym and leisure facilities.  The top notch Spinney’s supermarket, brioche café, barbers, beauty salon, dry cleaners, chemist and crèche were all housed under the central amenity area, all built in the same architecturally sensitive construction.  The labyrinth of walkways and housing areas, consisting of varying shapes, storey’s and sizes, provided the perfect backdrop for the elite housing area and the Porsche and Maseratis parked in the shaded driveways sparkled like diamonds in a ring.   Doing in the school run in my Asics and Mitsubishi Lancer I began to feel the first nibbles of peer pressure, as I took note of my well heeled and immaculately manicured neighbours.  Living in Abu Dhabi’s, Wisteria Lane would prove a challenge and keeping up with these desperate housewives could become a full-time job!

Embracing my new post, I made my way to the clubhouse to attend Zumba, wearing all my new Nike gear, which was more tight-fit than dri-Fit, signing in I noticed, a surname on the list above, “Mullally”. I make enquiries and sure enough she was Irish,  she wouldn’t be attending Zumba today, she had other arrangements.  Irish and haphazard about fitness, this could be a match made in heaven, I scanned the list again for her zone and house number, taking the initiative, I too dodged Zumba, grabbed a packet of Jaffa cakes from the stash of goodies brought over from Ireland and headed straight for Jackie’s,  looking forward to meeting someone Irish and having a natter while scoffing a few biccies over coffee.

Two ding dongs later, Ami Yong, answered the door and called for Ms. Jackie.  In a puff of glamour, Jackie appeared at the door, smart, short, navy dress, red heels and long flowing hair. She looked like she hadn’t had a biscuit since 1988. The Eva Longoria of Dublin 6.  She was just dashing out for lunch, she told me, as she smiled wryly at the baby-chewed box of the Jaffa cakes. We made arrangements to meet for coffee as she slipped on her oversized sunglasses and hopped into her gold coloured 4 x 4, speeding off, she called back, “by the way, welcome to Abu Dhabi, see you soon”, I replied under my breath, “shoulda gone to Zumba”.    

denisehession@gmail.com

Cheerio Then

My plans to leave Doha in the coming weeks and re-locate to Abu Dhabi would surely result in the weeks between being laden with lots of loose ends to tie up and finalities to be sorted and of course the long tearful goodbyes.  So, whipping out my gilt edged appointment diary, (a consistent Christmas stocking filler from my husband and one that faced a decline in details year on year since 2009) I proudly began to draw up to-do lists for the big relocation, careful to list the acquaintances I had met in Doha, lest I would forget a farewell.

Remembering the dramatic goodbyes had with family and friends in Ireland almost two years ago, before we travelled across the globe to seek refuge.  Long evenings spent by the home fires rocking to and fro with arms folded, discussing the whys and wherefores of emigration and loss, stoking the embers of a life in Ireland, with only ashes falling from the poker.  Heart-warming but aeartHearrm-numbing, embraces at the airport and fond tussles to the children’s hair through misty eyes and hoarse words, was all part of the fanfare.

And so, I mustered the strength to say goodbye again and I prepared my monologue which I would deliver to my Doha links.  It would go something like, “I have a bit of news, there’s been an offer in Abu Dhabi, what can we do, we need to go….”this, followed by a regretful shake of the head would set the scene, for my Irish farewell.   It would have an obvious undertone of regret mixed with resignation with a very slight hint of optimism about our new lives in Abu Dhabi. 

 Choosing my former place of employment for the first delivery, I drove to the office to speak my former colleagues, my hangdog demeanor assumed, along with an evident remorseful tone I launched into my speech, and braced myself for yet another heart wrenching adieu as my news ricocheted around the open plan office.   Like coyote, when he ignites the bomb to blow the roadrunner to bits but it doesn’t go off, I lit the dynamite but there was no explosion.  Standing there with eyes and teeth clenched tightly shut and mouth mimicking a smile which deepened the furrow in my brow in an effort to stunt the blast, the silence was deafening.  Ironing out my face and opening my eyes I scanned for room for reaction.  “Nice to make a change, are you selling your car or taking it with you” punctured the silence and led the way for “If you have any plants, I’d like them” and, “Are you selling your sofa?” and above all others, “What are you doing with your maid?” topped the polls.  Aghast at the insensitivity shown towards my departure and offended on behalf of my presumed however, non-existent maid, being treated like a utensil,  I reiterated, in case it wasn’t clear, that I was leaving for good, never to return, hoping for the sake of human nature that it might tempt a tear or coax a croaky “so long”, but the resounding response was upbeat, well wishing and opportunistic .  Taken aback at the candid reaction of the various nationalities to whom I had delivered the news of my departure I realised that there is something inherently self deprecating ingrained in us Irish, slow to congratulate ourselves on achievement and loathe to show excitement about new adventures, preferring instead to downplay events and highlight the negative aspects.   Although aware of the transient nature of the expat society in the Middle East,  I wasn’t quite prepared for the casual cheerio.

And so, one hour and as not as many tears later, I left the office, feeling bereft but hopeful that if the traffic wasn’t too heavy, I would make the Monday coffee morning of my Irish counterparts. Luck was on my side and twenty minutes later I was delivering the same speech to my fellow patriots and oh how the dulcet tones of the possibly insincere yet comforting words fell with great welcome on my ears. “that’s terrible, moving again so soon?”, and “Just when ye were getting settled”, compassion mixed with negativity, a little bit of home abroad

denisehession@gmail.com

 

Abbi Dabbi here I come!

Life was just settling into a comfortable monotony in Doha, we had emigrated and said goodbye to Ireland nearly two years ago, and it has taken that length of time to find a rhythm to my new life in Qatar.  Uprooting from Ireland and setting up temporary home in the Middle East was a massive shock to the system a direct repercussion of the recession and it was the ultimate sacrifice I had made in an effort to dodge financial ruin.  I had left Ireland very much a reluctant emigrant and met Doha with a skeptical pout and crossed arms, the body language of a spoiled Celtic Cougar born of the glory years in Ireland. 

Realisation of the world outside of Cork (I wasn’t sure there was one)  and encounters with expats from all over the globe  had changed that skepticism into a grudging acceptance which in last few months had further developed into a sedate security that if Doha for five or six years was the answer to escaping the fallout, then, how bad.   Similar to the relationship between the kidnapper and the captive, I had begun to rely on Doha to at least be consistent.  “Home away from home” may be a stretch but it had become a palatable “Refuge away from home”, a comfort blanket that was a little itchy.

And so, contentedly living my days in Doha, I began to invest a little in this sandbox pushed off into a peninsula and I began to make our house a home.  I had been hesitant to do so up to now, as the purchase of a picture frame, plant or fridge magnet might suggest that Doha was a destination and not the en-route pit stop I saw it as.   It was just as the plastic was taken off the glass jar that held the cinnamon scented candle, that I received a phone call to say we were moving!   My husband was being transferred to another project in Abu Dhabi.  Stumped, stunned and shocked I stood in the open plan living area holding the candle not knowing whether to place it down on coffee table or straight into a suitcase. Reeling from the news, and thoughts of packing, unpacking, finding a new house, securing places in a new school, saying goodbye, saying hello, I lugged out a suitcase and placed the candle inside. I knew Doha was a transient society, people come and go all the time, nobody stays too long, people inevitably move, but like a house fire, I always thought that it happened to other people. We had three weeks left in Doha.  As little as there was to do in Qatar, I began to think of the things we hadn’t done.   I wasn’t a moving around the UAE kinda gal, my big move was Doha, next stop home not Abu Dhabi. Abu Dhabi was one of those places that in school we thought didn’t exist, like Timbuktu or Tasmania.  Abbi Dabbi was a made up name, a place you said when you didn’t know where someone lived, e.g. “Where do Timmy and Rita live now?”  response, “they live out in Abbi Dabbi or somewhere”, translation, somewhere foreign and hot, not America or Australia.

Slowly, regret crept in and despite having spent an eventful 20 months in Doha, the birthplace of my young son, I had never exhaled, never fully embraced expat life, and never shook off the reluctant emigrant hankering for home, never lit the wick, as it were.  I thought I could hold my breath and exhale when back in Ireland, but alas, it isn’t that easy.   Was I to become an eternal expat? Would I, in years to come, talk of how we moved from place to place before eventually settling back to hibernate at home.  If so, it seems more pertinent than ever to adopt the belief that home can be anywhere as long as you’re with your family. 

And so I exhale,  surprised to notice that part of me is fond of Doha,  I decide to strike a match and light the wick, no more wait and see, no more reluctant emigrant, home today is Doha, next month Abbi Dabbi, here I come!