One year ago today, I arrived in Dubai.
With four orange suitcases in tow, I walked out of the airport, through the heavy, palpable 11 PM July heat and into the black Escalade that was waiting to take me to my swank 5-star hotel - the hollow trappings of an arrival that left me laying awake in bed all night, heart racing, teary-eyed looking at pictures of my dog, petrified about what I had gotten myself into and why I thought it was a good idea to move here and feeling more alone than I have ever felt in my life. The only thing that got me through that night - sleepless though it was - was to keep reminding myself that no matter what, I could always burn my bridges, hop a taxi back to the airport the next day (or any day thereafter), buy a one-way ticket back home, and let the dust settle from there.
But sure enough, the sun rose on July 11th, the pervasive disorientation of my jet lag began to ease, I dragged myself into the office for my first day at work and before I knew it, well, I was at that elusive point from which you never end up looking back.
So, in the spirit of Lucy's old blog (and my own self-referential tendencies), over the past year...
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I've watched the tallest building in the world sprout its way into the sky, I've watched reclaimed sand in the Gulf take shape as the islands of The World, and I've watched the only historic, character-filled neighborhood in Dubai be systematically razed by the bulldozers of a large government-owned property developer - all from the comfort of my living room window, usually with a glass of wine in hand.
I've come to understand many of this region's peoples and cultures way better than before. I've also started to comprehend the power of racism, segregation, and class hierarchy ways that I never wanted to imagine - often by fighting those forces at play within myself.
I've realized that no matter how much Haifa Wehbe and Nancy Ajram I listen to on the treadmill, I'm never going to be able to move my hips like a Lebanese woman on the dance floor. But I've also realized that the average Lebanese woman is never going to be able to dig her quads into a 5:40 mile. From each according to her ability, that's the great lesson of Dubai.
I've visited new countries (Ethiopia, India, Kuwait, Syria, Afghanistan and - tonight! - Lebanon), old countries (Oman, Germany, and of course the good ol' US of A), and developed a lofty list of must-visits for the next year (Palestine/Israel, Egypt, Qatar, Kurdistan/Iraq, Yemen, Djibouti, Eritrea, Sudan, Kazakhstan, Pakistan, and Iran).
I've paid US income taxes for - hopefully! - the last time in a long, long time.
I've purchased a car for the first time in my life and been irreparably influenced by the ease, convenience, and bliss of at-will automotive transport - and yes, government-subsidized petrol doesn't hurt. I have had one (reportable) accident, blame for which I couldn't flirt my way out of even when the police officer suggested I call someone ("your husband? your brother? your father?") to pick me up at the station and I mustered my best crocodile-tearful response, "I can't, I'm all alone here!" (Didn't work - the accident still went on file as my fault.)
I have adopted more Britishisms - petrol, queue, flat, mobile, lift, chuffed, keen - than I ever did in a year of living in London, and I quite fancy the change in my vocabulary.
I have had my mind blown by the incredible, incomprehensible amounts of wealth here (as I write this, I sit next to a 23 year-old Saudi-Iranian colleague who - depending on her mood for the day - drives her Mercedes G-Wagon, Bentley coupe, or Audi A8L with 6.0L engine to the office ... yes, that's close to a million dollars' worth of cars, not including the posh license plates that add at least another couple hundred thousand dollars to the mix).
I have also had my mind blown by the incredible poverty and exploitation that lives alongside this wealth (Pakistani construction workers coming home from 12-hour shifts working in 100F+ heat to labor camps where the ceiling fans have been removed so they can't use them to hang themselves; beaten, battered Filipina housemaids whose $125/month salary is sent directly to their 3 young children back home, living in windowless maids' rooms which lock only from the outside, not from within).
I've made a great, amazing, surprisingly close group of friends who are truly my family on this side of the world and my roots in a place of constant flux. And I've realized - much to my delight - that in a world of blogging, Facebook, Gchat, international SMS, global interconnectivity, and the occasional late-night $80 phone call (whoops), old friendships persevere and grow even at a distance of 7,000 miles and 8-9 time zones.
I've kept the goal I had when I arrived: use my current job as a vehicle to get to Dubai, make some connections, and then get a better job. But I'm still looking for my calling. (Unless 16-hour workdays and really elaborate .ppt slides are my calling, which... they might be, we'll see.)
I have wanted - several times - to dig a hole in the desert and bury myself in it, having been engrossed in driving/vamping along to my iPod's Miley Cyrus/Hilary Duff teenybopper playlist only to look up and find the eyes of a bus full of laborers (or worse, a Land Cruiser full of Emirati guys) staring down at me, transfixed in wonder and confusion. I now understand how it feels to be a curiosity and a fish out of water.
I've done a marathon, and a half-marathon, and a teeny tiny baby triathlon. But I've also gained 10 pounds thanks to too many lazy Saturdays spent at the pool, indulging in water-bottle gin & tonics and Lebanese takeaway.
I have cursed the traffic, cursed the construction, cursed the locals, cursed the laborers, cursed the heat, cursed the queues, cursed the bureaucracy, cursed the drivers, cursed the malls, cursed the censorship, and cursed myself - at times - for moving here. But I have also come to really love and passionately defend this crazy, chaotic, cosmopolitan city that I now call home, and I've seen my answer to "How long do you plan to stay in Dubai?" evolve from "a year, maybe two" to "for the foreseeable future."
I've learned to appreciate things about my country, about my family and friends, and about the way I grew up that I never would have realized and been grateful for had I not left them behind for, well, the foreseeable future.
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So there you have it, folks - my first year in Dubai. Thanks for reading and - inshallah, y'all! - there will be more adventures to come!
