Prior to moving to the Gulf, I was curious to see if the city of my future home had a nickname and sure enough it does: The City of Gold. As the AIU website points out, “Dubai’s nickname, ‘City of Gold,’ reflects another component of its economy: the jewelry trade. In fact, Dubai claims a greater concentration of jewelry shops per capita than any other city in the world.”
While on the one hand this name seems fitting as images of Emirati women in beautiful gold bangles and gold studded bags, the Burj Dubai (the world’s tallest tower), the Jumeira Emirates Towers (a luxury hotel and shopping center boasting brands like Bottega Veneta, Pucci and Balanciaga), and the glamorous Buddha-Bar come to mind—all part of my first five days’ experience in Dubai—it is clear to me that while on the surface this city smells strongly of wealthy capitalistic perfume, the underlying pulse of the Dubai is much more complex, gritty, and to be honest, quite poor.
In contrast to the aforementioned images, every other BMW I see driving on Sheikh Zayed Road (the 495 of Dubai) is an unairconditioned bus packed with gaunt Indian and Pakistani men (who’ve just spent 12 hours toiling in 110 degree heat to build the next biggest architectural wonder) on their way to sleep and eat at their home away from home, i.e., “worker camps.” In public restrooms I see uniformed Filipina women accustomed to the subtle stench of public toilets, gossiping as they wait for those doing “their thing” to finish up, so they can mop up the floors. And, just beyond the man made greens and gardens of my temporary neighborhood (think Agrestic, you know, from the show Weeds) until my husband and I find our own home, I gaze upon a dusty stubbly camel racing track covered in grayish yellow smog and wonder, “Am I really breathing that stuff in when I get out of this car?”
This City of Gold is sure to bring surprises! Perhaps you might wonder, what brought me to this place? Well, I came here for a few reasons:
- Because my husband got a job offer here that was just too interesting to refuse (He moved to New York for me… Now, I get to move to Dubai for him, although for us really).
- Because in all honestly I missed the expat lifestyle where just going to the grocery store can be an adventure (prior to my last stint in the States, I was an English teacher in Japan).
- Because I wanted to learn about a group of people, culture and religion that I (and most “westerners”) frankly know nothing about.
So, inshallah (God willing), my next few years here will be filled with peace, many new friends and much education—the education that comes from speaking with Pakistani taxi drivers, Filipino gym trainers, Indian executives, Australian housewives, Emirati businessmen and other young twenty-something adventurers from abroad (I know I am making large generalizations here, but I am shocked how the division of labor here, at least at first glance, seems so determined by gender and country of origin).
It is on this note that I will end my first post with a mood of excitement and curiosity (the kind that lasts about 3 months before “reality” sets in), patience (I am coming from a city where I filled my hours with stimulating work, workouts at the gym, dinners in the East Village, Park Slope and Harlem, outings to Pinkberry with my sister and many good friends… Here I am starting from scratch in search of fascinating work and good conversation) and determination to make this new city “home.”
Ma’a Salama,
A
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