Travel Blog
The author is a travel and feature writer. This is an account of her expat years. Names have been fiddled with to avoid offence but most of what you’ll read here is true. She loves the UK, but hopes to live abroad again before she’s of pensionable age.
Part 26
Background
In 2006, a family of Simpsons from the East of England moved to the Middle East. For the purposes of this story-in-parts, and to allow a little distance from Mr, Mrs and the three mini Simpsons (boy, girl, girl), they will now be referred to as Marge, Homer, Bart, Lisa and Maggie – their Springfield counterparts. When they moved across the world, this Marge and Homer were in their forties, Bart was 13, Lisa was 10 and Maggie was four.
Year 4 – Dubai
Oct 2009
As Marge expected, hopes that anything would come to fruition with Grazia after the breast cancer article (‘We’re launching a monthly publication in Bahrain, would you write for it? The Lifestyle Editor position is vacant, could you send us your CV?’) quickly fade. The Bahrain edition won’t be launching until the New Year. She is not the Editor’s favourite person. Her CV is ignored.
Determined to remain positive, she purchases every locally published magazine at the supermarket, Spinneys, and notes down the publishers and editors. She won’t contact them just yet, because when they don’t respond she’ll be even more pissed off. But just making the list feels like a first step.
Spinneys Magazine Section
Dubai is exciting. It’s different. It’s an adventure is Marge’s mantra. Despite ‘three things I’m thankful for today’ not yet a thing, she makes a list of positives.
- pavements and parks
- beaches and trees
- bling and excess
- futuristic architecture
- pockets of cultural interest
- a ski slope with snow
Where Bahrain was a work in progress, Dubai, whilst still partially under construction, is much more ‘done’. The residential districts, particularly those parallel to the beach, and the ones set back a street, are arranged in a grid. Marge’s immediate neighbourhood is in the middle of Umm Seqeim, one of Dubai’s more established communities, home to expats and Emiratis alike. Mosques on most corners, the call to prayer a regular soundtrack, the Simpsons live a street back from the coastline, with Jumeirah Beach to the left, Kite Beach to the right.
Umm Seqeim 2
From her bedroom window, Marge can see the ‘seven-star’ sail-shaped Burj Al Arab – ‘the world’s most luxurious hotel’, ‘Dubai’s most iconic hotel’. There is no such thing as seven stars, but if Dubai has decreed such a rating, it has to exist.
Burj Al Arab and Umm Suqeim Beach
Living in Sidra Village is like a mash-up of Stepford Wives, the United Nations and Club Med. Laid out in ever decreasing-sized blocks, of three-, four- and five-bedroomed houses, at the heart is a huge communal pool, a kiddies’ park, and a ‘club house’ with tennis courts on the roof, squash courts in the basement, a gym, sauna, steam room and party room. But if Marge thought it would be easy to meet people she is mistaken. Families either know each other or they don’t and even at the pool they sit in cliques or keep to themselves. The neighbours on one side – an attractive couple with two daughters, have two uniformed live-in maids, squashed into their maid’s room. A little way down is a family with children Maggie’s age. Marge thinks they might become friends in time.
Out of the compound gates, across the street, a small palace belongs to a sheikh. Luxury cars sit on the drive – a Ferrari, Mercedes, Lamborghini, Dodge Power Wagon… To its right, a small cold store, which Maggie quickly discovers sells sweets and fizzy drinks. Turn left and there’s a primary school for local Emirati children, its bell pealing every hour on the hour even over weekends. At least twice a day, lessons are broadcast so loud via a tannoy system that Marge can hear them from the house.
Continuing straight, Marge reaches Beach Road, Umm Suqeim beach and the sea. The streets are lined with large houses – some belonging to sheikhs, others to expats, and gated compounds with manicured lawns, green with trees, bright with bougainvillea. Maids and drivers work non-stop – cars cleaned daily, laundry constantly on the go, meals prepared and cooked, houses excessively tidy. In some gardens there are chickens, cats roam, dogs are walked on leads by staff who neglect to pick up the poo.
Unlike Bahrain, it is not considered the height of lunacy to walk or cycle, although most places – the supermarket, the school, the shops and work necessitate a car. In one direction is Mall of the Emirates with its ski slope, cinemas, shops, hotel and restaurants; Media City; the Palm; the Marina and Jumeirah Beach Residence [JBR]; industrial zones; Jebel Ali port; Abu Dhabi. In the other, the DIFC – the uber-modern financial district; art galleries; Dubai Mall – largest shopping mall in the world (3 million square feet, equivalent in size to more than 50 football fields); beautiful apartment blocks for ambitious working couples; the Creek; souks and the cultural districts. Keep going and you’ll get to Sharjah, Ajman, Ras al-Khaimah and eventually Oman.
Sheikh Zayed Road, an eight-lane highway, lined with futuristic skyscrapers, the longest road in the Emirates at 550km, stretches from Abu Dhabi to Ras al-Khaimah. Contrary to popular belief, Dubai is not a country, but one of the seven emirates (Dubai; Abu Dhabi -the largest emirate, containing Abu Dhabi the city, also capital of the Emirate of Abu Dhabi; Sharjah; Ajman; Ras al-Khaimah; Fujairah and Umm al Quwain) that make up the federation of the United Arab Emirates [UAE], formed in 1971.
Sheikh Zayed Road
It is incredible to think that forty years earlier there was little here but sand.
Considered one of the more liberal parts of the Middle East, Dubai, tourist destination of the UAE, affects an indifference to its culture and strict beliefs that confuses and deceives. Along Beach Road, in the malls, five-star hotels and cafés, couples and mixed groups socialise with ease, the atmosphere is relaxed, knees and shoulders are allowed out. But venture into the more traditional areas, or government buildings, or indeed the other emirates and it’s a different story.
Additionally, many expats with teenage children unfortunately discover the severity of the legal system (guilty until proven innocent), and the oppression of a police state during their time as residents here. But that is in Marge’s future. For now her most pressing concern is how she will deceive the family into thinking that hammour, the local fish somewhere between cod and monkfish, is chicken. She tried that once with liver, when the children were little – it wasn’t a success.
Life is rosy and with Homer no longer having to commute to work by plane or live in a hotel, they can eat dinner together every evening. Go for strolls at sunset.
“We can even do some early morning walks along the beach,” Homer says.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, thinks Marge. She has to set her alarm for 5.30 each day to be able to get out of bed at 6 to get the kids to school by 7.20. She can barely open her eyes, let alone put one foot in front of the other. Much as she desires goals and distractions and activities with Homer, there are limits.
With too much time on her hands, Marge completes the most boring task in the world. She gets all her photos developed from the previous 18 months, and puts them into albums. This seemed a good idea, a productive thing to do. But in hindsight it was foolish. The pictures (desert barbecues, beach picnics, New Year’s Eve, her birthday, friends round for dinner, friends) remind her how happy she finally was in Bahrain. And how miserable (despite her appreciation of being somewhere new) she is now.
Such self-pity does not make her popular with the rest of the family. They are getting on with it. They do not need her to bring them down. Digging deep, she gives herself a talking to. It is good to have lots of time. She can find her feet. Keep the house tidy. Make new friends.
She has one already – the News Reader from Bahrain. And she has made a new one Friend From the School Gates [FFSG]. She will not wallow. There has been sufficient time to recover from the first school coffee morning; she will do another. Run by a group called Expatriate Woman, Marge suspects that it won’t be for her. But she is determined to be nice and keep an open mind. In the café, lots, possibly hundreds (they blur) of women, overdressed, overexcited, are gathered in buzzy groups gossiping and eating cake. Inside, Marge weeps. A whole morning of her life she will never get back.
“Shall we just go?” she murmurs to FFSG who suggested this outing in the first place.
FFSG shakes her head. New to Expat World, she’s keen to give it a try.
A girl stands by herself; too young to be at such an event, emanating misery and loneliness. Marge and FFSG migrate towards her. From England, in her twenties, no children, her husband’s job has brought them here. But he is at work all day while she stays in their apartment, too nervous to venture out on her own. She’s worked since she was sixteen, she tells Marge, and has never lived abroad. She has no job, and no idea how to go about getting one. Apart from weekends with her husband, and today when she finally forced herself out, she speaks to nobody, has no friends.
Marge glances around, wondering when the event organisers are going to come round and introduce themselves to everyone. Wondering what the point of this Expat Woman coffee morning is. No one has made any effort to come and talk to the girl. Everyone seems to know each other. Marge and FFSG are concerned. This girl’s eyes are dead. Her voice is expressionless. She is clearly depressed.
Marge feels cross. Coffee mornings, such as these, do nothing to boost anyone’s self-esteem. They only serve to emphasise that some people have lots of friends and other people have none. On her friend’s insistence that they stick it out a little longer, they move with the girl to another group, in an attempt to mingle.
“I have a driver,” says one woman. “I’m too scared to drive myself.”
“I’ve never known such terrible driving,” says another.
“The roads are so dangerous,” says a third.
“Can we please go now?” Marge whispers to her friend. These women should try Bahrain and Saudi if they think Dubai’s roads are scary. Admittedly Sheikh Zayed Road has no clear lane-rules (slowest to the right fastest to the left – an unknown concept), but compared to Bahrain, where the ease of obtaining a driving licence is directly proportional to social status, and novice drivers’ first cars do 0-100 in under three seconds, and, in the three years Marge lived there, four husbands of friends were killed in crashes on the King Fahd Causeway between Bahrain and Saudi, Dubai roads are country lanes in comparison.
On their way out, they collar the organiser and ask her to spend some time with the depressed girl to make sure she gets some support. An event like this would be far more useful if the organisers paired up newbies and experienced expats, or did a talk on how to integrate, or how to find voluntary work, or where to find a decent counsellor.
With half term fast approaching, Marge makes plans. A family trip to Hatta – the desert and the fort.
“Do we have to?” Lisa asks.
“I might be busy,” Bart says.
“I’m not going with them on my own,” Maggie pipes up to anyone who’s listening.
“It’ll be fun,” says Marge desperately. She’s planning on taking a picnic to eat in the desert. What could be more exciting than that?
But Bart is in love and the sixth form Iftar meal is taking place (not in the school dining hall catered for by the dinner ladies as is normal, say, for a Christmas dinner back in the UK, but at one of Dubai’s finest five-star hotels).
Keeping things real is so three-years-ago.
So, Bart cannot be persuaded to come. And if he’s not, then Lisa definitely won’t. And quite frankly, dragging Maggie round cultural sites without the support of her elder siblings would not be fun for anybody. Least of all Marge.
Maybe Homer will go to the cinema with Marge instead. Their original plan to go mid-week failed upon discovering that evening movies in Dubai don’t start until 9pm. The compulsory up-with-the-lark scenario renders 9pm the wrong-side-of-midnight.
“Or we could just stay at home and chill,” Homer says.
“Chill?” Marge is indignant. “My life has zero purpose. I go nowhere and see no one. I live for the weekend when you and I might go out and do something. Why would I want to stay at home and chill?”
Homer is perplexed. How can anyone not want to stay at home and chill? He is exhausted after his week at his stimulating job, working with dynamic people, being very important. He’d just like to put his feet up and watch TV.
“We’re going to Covent Garden Market!” Marge decrees.
Obviously not the London version, it nevertheless sounds nice. Artists and artisans selling their stuff from stalls on the Walk at JBR – the waterfront strip of a buzzy beach-lined residential community in the Marina.
Marge knows Homer would balk at actual shops, but an open-air market. What’s not to like? Then maybe the beach… Though Marge won’t suggest that till after the market. Best to drip feed ideas to Homer rather than dump them. Marge would then quite like to go to Bastakiya, Dubai’s restored historic district. But she knows not to push her luck. To achieve one outing is a victory. To get all three would be loaves and fishes.
Friday morning, convinced that an outing en famille will be like the opening scene of the Sound of Music Marge, in a last ditch attempt to get everyone on side, proposes lunch out too.
‘Will we be back by – ?’
‘Will you buy me a – ?’
‘Do we have to – ?’
“YES!” she yells.
Although much of what’s on sale is more expensive than your average designer boutique, the less bling more boho-chic element is a welcome change and, to Marge’s relief, everyone is happy.
“See how lovely family outings are.” Marge glows with pride at their display of domestic harmony. “We should do this more often.” It’s so gratifying. The children still enjoy spending time with her. She is – She and Homer are – such great parents…
There’s a restaurant nearby that she’s been to for breakfast. The food was great. The family will love it. Unfortunately, lunch is not breakfast. The food is under par. Service is slow. The family is underwhelmed.
What was Marge thinking? Why didn’t they go somewhere else? When can they go home?
Marge bites her tongue. Family outings are not filling her heart with the sound of music. She’s with Miss Hannigan, she’d have cracked years ago if it weren’t for her sense of humour.
Sunday arrives not a moment too soon. Marge flicks through her stockpile of magazines that are gathering dust. Half-heartedly she emails some of the editors; she has nothing to lose but her self-esteem. The fug of insecurity she finds herself wallowing in is unattractive, but moving somewhere new, settling into a new country, adapting to a new way of life, the kids at school, the husband at work (their infrastructures automatically in place from day one), she’s lost her confidence, her professional identity.
She tries to remind herself that she knows the score. It was just the same at the start in Bahrain. It’s merely a process. Like PMS, it is uncomfortable. It is inevitable. It will pass. But for now, her rational self is losing to her emotional self. She is miserable and frustrated.
She drops the children at school. Punctuates the day with a school meeting, trips to two supermarkets, phone calls to the UK to deal with administrative problems, a visit to a hair salon with a friend (Marge has her hair trimmed, the friend has a manicure, then they go for lunch). If she doesn’t find a job soon, she’ll be mistaken for an expat.
The Deputy Editor of Friday Magazine, the weekend supplement of Gulf News, the UAE’s leading English language newspaper calls Marge.
Gulf News & Friday Magazine
Would she like to write for them? Marge does a silent jig of joy and answers “Yes.” A long discussion ensues. Can she talk him through her previous experience? Has she had some thoughts on which section she’d like to write for? Unable to remember any of the sections, Marge asks if they have any preference. Clever!
Thrown, the Deputy Editor says he will discuss it with the Editor and come back to her later that week.
Finally, Marge is on her way.
Half term comes, and with it, a visit from her closest friend from the UK with her family. It’s always good to have guests. Makes Marge appreciate everything through fresh eyes.
But when they leave, both Marge and Lisa are unsettled, the rest of the family, less so. The emigrating experience varies from person to person. Maggie still misses Bahrain, Lisa hankers after England and Marge is striving to find her place in Dubai. Maggie was only four when they moved abroad. She made her first best friends in Bahrain. That move was a magnificent adventure for her. She is not enjoying Dubai yet.
Lisa was going into her last year of primary school when they moved to Bahrain. A difficult school year to start in when friendship groups are well established, even in the transient expat community. It’s still early days in Dubai, and although she has made a new friend, seeing an old one from England has made her feel homesick.
Bart found moving to an international school from the UK state school system an eye opener. “Nobody’s normal,” was his earliest observation. But, finding his feet fairly quickly, and being a boy where having a ‘best friend’ isn’t the be-all and end-all, he thrived and is doing so again in Dubai.
How indulgent should one be when the children are having a wobble about expat life? Marge is not sure.
“We have to be here for my work,” says Homer, bluntly. “We just have to get on with it.”
But Marge sympathises with Lisa. Seeing old friends has rocked her ‘just getting on with it’ boat too. It’s a lot easier to just get on with it when your days are so full you barely have time to breathe. Homer had assured Marge that he’d be travelling less. For two of their three years in Bahrain he was working in Dubai four days each week. It was not what Marge had anticipated, and Maggie in particular really missed him. Now, a month into their new life, he is off again. To Cannes for a conference. Then a trip to Cairo, returning via Abu Dhabi.
Marge experiences a flicker of concern. Travel has rapidly crept back in. Will their new-found stability be short-lived?
A week since Marge spoke to Friday Magazine, she emails to follow up. Hears nothing. Calls. The Deputy Editor has gone on annual leave. She’ll have to wait till he returns…
It is Halloween. If Marge thought it was all-singing-all-dancing in Bahrain, Dubai takes it to a whole new level. Shops dedicated to all things Halloween sell tacky vampire and Red Riding Hood costumes costing up to £50.
Halloween Costumes – Dubai
“No!” Marge says before the ‘I wants’ have a chance to snowball. Park n Shop, the little supermarket by the school (one area food, the other, toys, stationery and dressing up tat) will do.
Park.n.Shop
The ‘Class Mum’ at Maggie’s school organises a party for the children in the local park. For two hours they run-riot costumed-up, hot and sweaty, giddy on Halloween E-numbers, whilst mums sit and chat. Not arduous. Not arduous at all. Compound life also comes into its own. A well-organised group of mothers, who’ve lived in Sidra Village for a few years, post a flyer through every letterbox; an invitation for all the children to Trick-or-Treat together around the compound. Those wishing to participate must stick the note to their front gates. Marge, like the other mums decorates their carport. Children and parents congregate by the pool. An army of excited children weaves its way around the compound accumulating an obscene amount of sweets. Marge finally meets some neighbours. She and Maggie make friends with the family a few doors down.
Lisa has her friends round to prepare for a Year 9 party, and Bart’s friend, who’ll be staying over after the Year 12 party, arrives with a bouquet of flowers for Marge, to thank her in advance for having him. Marge is flattered and charmed.
Now three weeks since the Friday Magazine call, despite more phone calls, emails and voicemails, no one seems to know anything about the Deputy Editor’s conversation with her. Can they get back to her? Marge puts the phone down and yells. She wishes she’d not forgotten what it’s like trying to find work off your own back in the Middle East. She might be less frustrated.
Pacing round the house, muttering and griping to herself she comes up with Option B. She’ll write a book and make lots of money. Then she won’t have to feel guilty that she can’t get a job or earn any money.
“I’m going to write a novel,” she tells Homer that night, when the children have gone to bed.
“Are you?” He seems taken aback.
“Yes!” Marge barks, daring him to undermine her only plan.
“Lovely.” He gives her a nervous smile. “Do you know how?”
Continued here View From A Broad Part 27
daniellesimpson 
Just saw this on LinkedIn 👍🏽❤️
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