Behind the mirrored buildings and the exquisite architecture structures in our beautiful Gulf countries is the sweat of unsung heroes. Their day starts at 6am from their meager accommodations to their work place, which is a construction site. They work for not less than 40 hours per week under the smoldering desert sun, usually with a mid day break and are prone to heat strokes. When dusk falls, they line up to get transported back to their accommodation to get ready for the next working day. All of our lives are touched by their hands somehow and we often see them gazing outside the bus windows while they are being transported.

No, I am not about to take you through a guilt trip but will ask you to think up of ways to reach them by performing “Random Acts of Kindness” towards them and many others who leave their families behind to help build our countries for as little as USD 150 per month.

 Random Acts of Kindness can be described as a guiding principle by which an agreement is drawn between you and humanity. It’s effortless to follow, easily instilled within your sub conscious, infectious, sustainable and nourishing to your soul.

This is one of the main guidelines adopted by a UAE based volunteering group called The Seeds of Change. As best put by one of the pioneering volunteers, Nujoud Al Bastaki, who was addressing a crowd of volunteers at The Abu Dhabi Water Movement, “Muna Al Muhairi, the Founder of The Seeds of Change, planted the seeds and we are emerging from it.” It was on a Saturday June afternoon in a construction site with the usual predictable soaring temperatures and 60 volunteers of different ages were crammed up in a small make shift wooden cabin. These volunteers drove from different Emirates to the construction site in Abu Dhabi by just trusting this principle, Random Acts of Kindness, which spread through word of mouth. It was surreal as most of the volunteers didn’t know each other, some didn’t even hear about The Seeds of Change but they all arrived with one common goal: to attempt to soothe off the heat of the construction workers with smiles, cold water and refreshments which they bought with them. These volunteers arrived in more than 25 cars filled with food and water to suffice 3000 people. By the end of the afternoon, they made a connection with 2200 construction workers and the smiles which mirrored were priceless.

The objective behind The Water Movement is not to do a one off charity drive but to allow an individual to think and learn firsthand how easy it is to carry forth acts of kindness to anyone – be it a stranger or someone you know. It can be as simple as making a decision to always leave the house with a bottle of water from home and if you happen to see someone working outdoors in the heat, hand him a bottle of water with a smile. It can also mean to genuinely smile, saying “Thank You” and “Please” to the toilet cleaner in the shopping mall or sharing your lunch food with the security guard in the office building or helping someone who is carrying a lot of things. You may not do it every day but randomly act to do things for others for no apparent reason, just to make someone happy or motivate a smile. Then watch the rippling effect.

As best quoted in PS I Love You Compiled by H Jackson Brown, “Today, give a stranger one of your smiles. It might be the only sunshine he sees all day.”

To receive future updates about making a small change in your society, like the FaceBook page “The Seeds of Change” or follow them on Twitter @The_SoC

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Here is a small insight of the inner workings of the Lochalites Twitter World. Can't help but notice a certain Twitter Posse and would like to christen them "Queen Twee Bees and Wanna Twee Bees"

The Queen Twee Bees are females who  are usually popular because everyone is either afraid of them (including some sad excuses for males) or want to be like them. They tend to have armies of followers: "friends" or “friendzaat” or Wanna Twee Bees embracing their posse. On the other hand, The Wanna Twee Bees soul existence thrives by giving ego logical boosts to The Queen Twee Bees. However, few people actually like the Queen Twee Bees for who they really are.

This Queen Twee Bees all-powerful girl elite who seem to run it & are doing well in "trending" themselves & are using the "Lochal" card to be "First this" & "First that". The Queen Twee Bees also engage in excessive “Re Tweets” of Wanna Twee Bees who in turn make it seem like their soul purpose in life is to praise The Queen Twee Bees.

Dear Followers/Wanna Twee Bees,

It’s fake. And worst of all, it’s not sustainable. This 140 character Republic that you read has a short life cycle. One day, the bubble will burst and all of you toy soldiers and blind followers will crumble down like dominos. Currently, you are mindlessly following and imitating everything in the name of fame/recognition. You have become a group of sheep who lack imagination and individual thought.

And for the Queen Twee Bees who are reading this now...you are so vain, you probably think this blog post is about you. Don’t you? Don’t you?

Signing off,

The Black Sheep.

The Voyage

Most people use sea transportation to travel between the Spice Islands of Zanzibar and Pemba but I decided to embark on a short one hour plane ride from Dar es Salaam to Zanzibar to Pemba.  A boarding pass or an identification paper was not a requirement to enter the plane. I was only asked my name on the run way by some airport worker and she checked it off from a paper with hand written names of the passengers.
I travelled with Coastal Airlines and I actually let out a laugh when I got seated in the plane and tweeted: This is not a plane. It’s a toy. So help me Lord.  

The air craft was a flying 12 seat minivan: the seating arrangement was 4 rows with 2 + 1 seats; its height was of a minivan - so much that you have to mind your head and crouch while moving around. The seated Pilot, a Westerner, bothered himself enough to twist his neck backwards to the 12 passengers and mumbled in English (not Swahili) for half a minute about the air craft having three fire exits, life jackets in the front with him and the length of the journey. As we approached Pemba, I couldn’t stop snapping pictures from the skies of the lush tropical greenery. Pemba truely lives up to its Arabic name, Al Jazeera Al Khadra (meaning The Green Island).

I landed in the most basic airport that I have ever laid my eyes on, Pemba Airport. This domestic airport runs on a couple of bulbs, there is a chalked black board with the flight details, an ancient weighing scale, there are no boarding gates or conveying belt or security check or a duty free shop. Plain and simple. 

The Green Island is Half Full

My last remaining cousin in Pemba, Eddi came to pick me up and it so happens then he got his immigration papers sorted out to move to the West. Many of the local people have moved out the island in search of better life so, it is estimated that the population is only around 250,000. Pemba is located about 50 kms, north of Zanzibar and it’s one of the largest clove producing places in the world. It is the birth place of both my parents and it used to be pre dominantly occupied by Omanis for centuries until the infamous Zanzibar Revolution, when most of the Arabs (like my parents) left for greener pastures.

It’s also generally looked down upon and suppressed hence it’s clearly under developed, poverty stricken and there is a lack of infra structure. In spite of this, the friendly local people are surviving through unimaginable hardship by farming and trading which keeps the life cycle moving. Its simplicity, charm and beauty are the reasons which bring me come back here again.

I loved the one hour potholed ride to our family farm house only because of the sheer green backdrop. Along the way, my breath was taken away by the undulating hills and deep verdant valleys covered with a dense cover of clove, coconut, rice and spinach plantations. We had a brief stop to allow for a chicken with its little chicks to cross the road. The road sides were decorated with mats of clove buds being dried out and rows of mud huts as houses built by cemented bricks is a luxury for most here.

It was close to Iftaar when I arrived in the 160 year old family farm house where my mother was born. I walked into the house and saw my Mother sitting in the open courtyard of the house preparing milk to feed her new pet: a male calf and she even introduces it/him as my younger brother.

Typically the houses in Pemba are built in two parts. There is the main house with the main door and multi purpose rooms; then from the inside of the house, another door opens to the patio which is closed by the walls of the house. Towards the back of the house, are more rooms with all their doors facing the courtyard. The courtyard is where the magic happens: we eat in the open, the dishes are washed there (there is no sink), there is the lazy bed made up of rope and wood where you can take your afternoon naps or just chill, the cat and chickens hover around there before getting chased out - and so it’s a living area in its true sense. 

Suhoor and Iftaar

My mouth would not stop watering as I watched the food been laid on the colourful rattan woven floor mat. Again here, in The Green Island, everything is organic and is slowly cooked using wood and charcoal – so you can only imagine the food taste. My mother ensured that my first Iftar here constituted of  food from the local cuisine: pumpkin cooked in coconut, cassava cooked with coconut and fish, chappati, curry with oysters, meat cutlets and spinach. And this goes without saying but it’s mandatory for our family to have Lgeimat and my imported Vimto which is always a part of my diet even if it’s not Ramadan.

As the call for prayer dusked in, we savoured on the scrumptious Iftaar in the open air with the sky slowly getting filled with a million stars and the moon was glowing over head. The family members, neighbours and maids all sat down together and had Iftaar together. This togetherness is the norm here and family members do not eat or cook alone Iftaar. As it gets darker, we switch on the lights and I could hear the cries of the night animals, bush baby and crickets. In no time I could hear beautiful recitation of Quran and the mantra echo of “Ameeeen” from the mosque right in front of our farm house. 

I slept under a mosquito net and woke for Suhoor with a bang. Literally. It is customary for a troupe to play the liveliest African drum beats from 3am across the villages and its purpose is to wake people up for Suhoor. This is my dosage of music for this month. I believe, on hearing this, even people with the least rhythm will start to sway their hips in their sleep and I look forward to the beats to wake me up every morning.

On one of the days, we were invited for Iftaar in another farm house where there is no sign of electricity. It was total bliss. The delicious Iftaar was laid on the ground but this time we were sitting completely in the open surrounded by many different plantations like coconut, papaya, spinach, mango, clove, cocoa and sugar cane. There was a pleasant breeze while the Iftaar was lit up by kerosene lanterns and we prayed outside in the cool. The kids were busy guarding the food from the chickens, ducks and turkey while we prayed. They were so amused by me taking pictures of every detail around me and called their other friends for me to take group pictures of them.

After a tasty Iftaar, I decided to walk back through the villages back to our farm house with the company of our female helpers. This decision had a lot of eyes rolling because it was pitch black, it is a long hilly 8 km walk and the only source of light was my navigating torch which my adventurous mother thought ahead to bring along. The moon was hiding for some reason but I marveled at the stars which lit up the skies. As we are walking, along the way, we get greeted by hospitable people sitting outside their homes and they offer us to sit on the "Baraza" which is like a majlis located in front of the houses. Its borrowed from the Arabic word Barza.

I couldn’t resist the aroma of the barbecued seafood and beef being sold on the streets and I had stopped on one of the many candle lit table top sellers. This specialty barbecue is prepared right in front of you, then you relish the best marinated meat with light soap, potatoes and fried cassava. I made peace with my fitness regime that night. 

We Are All Children

Schools in The Spice Islands close during Ramadan until after Eid finishes. So every morning, not less than ten small children ritually come uninvited and sit themselves in the courtyard of our farm house to get candy. One morning, I took a walk with my mother around the farm house to where my Grandfather was laid to rest in 1967; we walked to the 157 year old well dug by my Great Grandfather, she showed me the cocoa plant which her father  in 1967and she showed me the vast stretches of lush green land which belongs to her family since 1852. It’s all untouched because the whole family has moved back to Oman and like a child I play hide and seek with the “Touch Me Not” plants.

As we walk through the fields, small children who don’t know us, greet us out of respect and it is a norm. With rhythm they greet us “Shika Mo” and we reply “Marhaba”. Then my mother tells the strange children not to go very far into the fields and to which they acknowledged.  She quickly senses my aloofness because I am not used to "interfering" in other children upbringing and so she turns to me, to advise me “In Africa, it takes a whole village to raise a child. This is the way of life here and how we connect.”

Peace out.

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I am not lucky. I am blessed.

There is nothing like throwing yourself into a completely different setting and lifestyle to outline what your life is all about. In addition, its more gratifying than buying a Range Rover. Being lost for a week has taught me what is important in my life.

I got so adapted to the power been cut off every day for a good nine hours, that I am writing in the dark even though I have been blessed with uninterrupted electricity from the night before. More importantly, I have come to appreciate the basic things in life that we take for granted.

H2O

Picture this. Back home in UAE, as soon as you are seated in some restaurants and even before you place an order, a waiter pours you a glass of bottled water and often, there is water remaining in the 1 litre of bottled water. Since water is not a scarcity, you unconsciously leave some water behind (plus you pay for it). Sounds familiar?

Last week in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, I was stuck in a water shortage situation and I vowed to learn a lesson from it.

I was the last person to wake up for Suhoor because I usually wake up just half an hour before Fajer Prayers. So I began planning for my Suhoor food ritual: Iftaar leftovers and three glasses of water to drink just in time before the call for Fajer prayers. I had my plate of food ready and looked around for bottled water and there was none. I was told one of my cousin’s kids spilt the last bottle of water just before I woke up. I checked with my cousin if the tap water was safe to drink and her response was “No, no, nooo.”  Her answer was actually an endorsement to my recurring thoughts that, the running water in Dar es Salaam was not absolutely clean; but I just had to ask.

My brain started to shuffle instantly. I started to think about how I use undrinkable water to brush my teeth, gargle, to wash my hands, to perform Wudhu but then again (pause) I do use a sanitizer & Dettol soap to combat any bacteria. I snapped out from my OCD thoughts as I was running out of time and I had to come up with a contingency plan because I needed to drink water, plus eat food before I started to fast & not to forget, brush my teeth with “that” water.  

So I made the decision to boil the tainted tap water in the electric kettle (thank God for electricity on this day), refrigerate the water while I ate and lastly drink my version of filtered water as it would have cooled off a bit by the time I finish my food. I went to open the tap to fill the kettle… Surprise Surprise.. The power was not cut off this time but there was no running water.

Frustrated with myself so I resorted to the last remaining cup of tea from the Iftaar leftovers, used mouth wash since there was no water and thanked the God to be able to fast.

Reality check: Clean, drinking water is a miracle and all I can say is AlhamdAllah for the water which is running from our taps at home in UAE.

 Yes, we have it lucky

My cousin, my host and my friend, Tee, has written an award winning novel for young adults and in the story she created a support group for Swahili speaking young female adults. She decided to recreate this support group into real life and so she created a “closed FaceBook group” called Virginity is Dignity (VID) for women only. Within six months the members grew to over 2,200 Swahili speaking women. Virtual friends became real friends supporting each other, discussing, advising and sharing knowledge on genuine challenges and topics like divorce, polygamy, cooking tips and sex. The members were mainly Swahili speaking female members who lived as far as USA to UK to UAE to Kenya to Tanzania. One of the activities that we were running is a Ramadan charity drive which we MashAllah got an overwhelming response.

Unanimous discussions were made amongst the VID group members on how to use the funds and we agreed on utilizing the funds on orphans and the needy in Tanzania. However, for many valid reasons, we humans tend to generate negative thoughts after or before giving charity, like wondering if the donations will reach the right hands and if the  donations will make a difference especially because the world is corrupt (don’t even bother to challenge me on that). On the other hand, I also personally feel, just like anything else that you do in your life, whether you are buying yourself something or whether you are giving: plan, explore, trust in yourself, give with a smile & look back with a smile again.

So in an attempt to curb those negative thoughts, for everyone’s sake, we decided to actually go visit the orphanages which we heard through word of mouth in Dar es Salaam Tanzania.

On a sunny afternoon on the 6^th of Ramadan, 13 members who have never met each other in real life (including myself) got in touch over the phone through FaceBook (sadly not Twitter), picked each other up at different points along the way and packed ourselves in my cousin’s mini bus. It was an eventful adventure because most of us never met in real life prior to this and none of us have ever been to this orphanage which we were looking for or even knew how to get to there. We just knew that there was an orphanage in the outskirts of Dar es Salaam in an area, called Mbewni. It was a long fun two hour drive to this unknown destination, getting lost on the way a couple of times, asked around for directions until we saw a sign written “Mwandaliwa Islamic Orphans Home Care & Counseling Support”.

At this point, I was driving, through muddy tracks with pot holes and all I could see were shrubs.  We stopped for directions and saw a boy not more than 12 years old washing clothes in an open yard in front of a home still under construction and a colourful blue house.  I asked him his name and he said, Khamis. I asked him where he lived and he pointed towards the half built house which eventually turned out to be the orphanage. I didn’t want to feel like an interrogator, but I just had to do the “security questions” (felt like a bank’s call center agent asking verification questions)
I asked him “Where is your father?”
Khamis replied, “He has passed away.”
“Where is your mom”
“I don’t know her”

That touched a chord. So we get off the bus and scanned the place around. It looked like the blue house was a small nursery for the little ones (check out the picture) and there main house was half built, which was the orphanage. The place was spotless and clean. We asked for the care taker and met Mama Haleema.

This is her story in a nutshell: She started to bring up two orphans 13 years ago and eventually she has 72 orphans under her care from the age of two years old to eighteen years old. She also has children of her own, who are all married, living in different places and her youngest grand child is in Grade 8. The orphans obviously live on charity donations and a benevolent person pitched in to build a new bigger home which they made amends to live in, in spite of it being still under construction. There were cement bags on a corner and some building materials in a few of the other rooms.

It all felt legit and the donations they receive are being used honestly. We asked her a lot of questions to get to know the place; then we prayed our Dhur prayers in their house, met some of the kids and left the orphanage. We had to make a decision on what we were going to do next. There were many ideas but the feasible one was to buy her food stuff and essentials with some of the money, then look for other places as well.

Fortunately, I had taken some pictures of Mwandaliwa Orphanage and they got uploaded on the FaceBook group on the same day. The word spread like fire on FaceBook and the following week we getting very generous donations from people who were not even part of the group. The members decided to meet again and we had even a bigger group visiting the orphanage. My cousin and I went about, using the donated money to buy food and essentials which will last them for not less than a month: sacks of rice, red kidney beans (which is a staple diet in Dar es Salaam), sugar, flour, cooking oil, washing detergent, sweets and crisps. In addition, some of the ladies from the group, bought on their own expense, posters to put up in the nursery, new Eid clothes for the very little ones and toys. It was a remarkable experience at the Mwandaliwa Orphanage. We prayed in congregation/Jamaa with the little orphan girls, they read prayers/duaa after that, then most the orphans gathered together voluntarily to read duaa to thank Allah, they spoke to us about their future plans, they helped in unloading the items and it honestly left us all with smiles in addition to a few tears.

While some of the older ones were speaking to us about their future plans, it immediately struck me to take pictures of them (in the pictures, you will see two young ladies). I uploaded the picture on FaceBook of the two teenagers who unfortunately couldn’t complete their studies due to insufficient funds. With the power of social media and even before the end of the night, a benevolent person (non FaceBook Group member) texted my cousin Tee and pledged to sponsor their education.

On our way back, three cars packed with VID members visited another orphanage and a shelter for the homeless kids. It didn’t sit well with all of us and it didn’t seem right for reasons that I will not mention. The children here are the victims in this situation. We left donating cooking gas to last them for a good few months.

Have a look at the pictures that I uploaded on this blog and which are dated. The first day we visited the orphanage  was on the 6th of August and the day we revisited them again was on 13th August.

As of the 13^th of August, we raised 1.4 million Tanzanian Shillings - Alhamdella

My next stop

I am now in Pemba, which up in the North of Zanzibar. Once upon a time, this place was pre dominantly populated by Omanis and its very much evident when you step into this untouched beautiful island. I plan to give you a small taste through my words of what I am witnessing.

Until then, I am signing out.

PS The pictures are arranged sequentially  according to my thoughts above & I still have to figure out how I can add a caption :-)

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Going to exile

I truly believe in my hearts of heart that my folks purely wanted this Tanzania trip in Ramadan for their almost 3 – OH year old daughter, just so that they can tame the diva in her. I have been to Africa before and it was a very touristy kind of trip in Kenya and Tanzania: picnics, safaris, pricey restaurants, private planes, shopping, beach front houses and maids 24/7. But this time. It’s a different ball game. My luxury ended at the business class flight.

Karibu (means welcome in Swahili)

As soon as I Ianded in the commercial capital of Tanzania, Dar es Salaam, I smelt Africa. There is just something about the general smell in Africa. Its misty mixed with dew mixed with leaves mixed with diesel smoke.

My cousin whom I am staying with is a bit late to pick me up at the airport so I wait for around twenty minutes outside the tiny airport which is the size of two boarding gates of Dubai’s International Airport. My Dad kept warning me of pick pockets, so I am unbelievably suspicious of the people around me and my eyes are firmly fixed on my 70 kilos of suitcases.  Finally I get picked up by my cousin in a privately owned van with air conditioning and this.. let me tell you.. is not a small deal in Tanzania. On the way to my cousin’s house, the tight, unpaved, traffic-clogged road is on stand still every few minutes with every type of non traffic law abiding land transportation: pedestrians, street vendors selling fruits, rosaries (because its Ramadan), manicure sets, there are beggars who stick their faces for 10 seconds on your car window waiting for a giving sign, there are overcrowded buses with people literally hanging out, polluting cars, bicycles, motor bikes and imported tuk tuks. (Sharjah is not home to traffic).

My cousin is considered to be from the upper middle class; she is an award winning author and her husband is a successful business man. So basically, their house has the above average amenities for an East African suburb house. When we reach her place, her 6 year old son called Yaseen, without being told, pushes open the heavy front gate, pulls out his hand to say hi to me for the first time and helps his father put my very heavy luggage in to my room. They didn’t wait for the maid to open the door – it’s the man’s job. I enter the house and see my 3 year old nephew, Mouadh, also without being instructed, brings a sofa cushion so that his younger 2 year old sister can have her bottle of milk on the floor comfortably.

I found that amazing on how dependent, respectful and resilient kids in Africa are as compared to how we mollycoddle and fuss over our kids.

Bongo Iftaar (Bongo is slang for Dar es Salaam)

All my fellow Swahili friends know that the food which I will eat here is to die for. Everything is natural, unrefined, untreated and whole. No frozen chicken because electricity is unreliable and so everything is from the backyard or from a farm you know. In fact, when my cousins come from Africa to visit us in Oman or UAE, they find it difficult to get used to our food taste because it’s unnatural.

During Iftaar time, the kids help with the two maids whom they are not allowed to address with their first names – they have to call or refer to them as older sisters for respect. The five kids not more than 10 years old, boys and girls, help to clear the table, put the food on the table, lay the mat on the ground, wash the dishes after we eat, clean the floor and don’t dare to throw food away.

I had some food remaining on my plate and I was shame-faced watching the kids' plates wiped clean. As I sheepishly brought my plate with left over in the kitchen, my cousin told me to leave it on the dining table. She actually ate my left overs.

I knew my parents were not there with me now but I could feel the heat of their stares.

The Intruders

Mosquitoes, mosquitoes, mosquitoes and more mosquitoes. Now in August, its the tropical, rainy season since Tanzania is situalted below the Earth's equator. In addition, this is the feeding season for the mosquitoes: they can smell different blood (me), that they thrive to feast on. It’s like the Giant in the story of Jack and the Bean stalk: Fee fai fo fum, I smell the blood of an English man. Unlike me, the native people here don’t get mosquito bites because their skin is immune to it but sadly they are not immune to Malaria – which is what I am dreading from.

Of course I travelled with all my defending weapons like weekly malaria preventive medicines, mosquito repellents, insecticide and God bless the Chinese with their inventions: a highly addictive rechargeable electrifying tennis-racket-like-thinge which electrocutes mosquitoes when you hit dem up. Naturally since I come from Dubai, I have an elaborate weapon which comes with a torch and so all the kids in the house are fighting over it.

One of the kids asked me, " Why? Don't you have mosquitoes in Dubai? Are you scared of them?"  

The Morning After

I passed out under the spinning fan and woke up twice in the morning. First when the power got cut off at 7am and secondly when I heard melodious strange female and male voices selling pulses and vegetables. Now is the time to take the bath which I was procrastinating. I admit, I slept last night without bathing only because I was not mentally prepared to use the bathroom. I also admit that I have issues and I am picky with bathrooms but taking this step was overdue. I am staying in an ensuite guest room, with a tiny toilet, very clean but no bath tub, no sink, running water is limited in some taps, no water heater and there are no bathroom slippers (after the food incident, I didn’t want to bring in my rubber slippers and seem like a pretentious guest).

I call one of the older kids to check that if maybe, maybe, there is a hidden over head shower which I didn’t spot out. No, there is only the tap and a small bucket with a plastic container. So, the kid being respectful, courteous and knows that this woman is from out of space, fills the bucket of water and points out to use the bucket. I turn frantic asking myself, how do I perform this operation: brush my teeth, face wash, toner blah blah blah. I keep looking at the bucket of water and tested the temperature. It was coooollllldddd water.

Ok, so I call the kid again and ask if the water is safe to take a bath with. You know; maybe they forgot to tell me something. And the kid answered with her eyes rolling, “We all use the same water.”
I tell myself, Khallas Asma. Finito. Kaput. Just do it. I was in and out within 5 minutes. It was the quickest bath I have ever taken. Brushed my teeth, used the face wash on one hand and the container of water in the other, used the Life Buoy soap because I forget my Bath & Body Works Wash from all the frenzy and BOOM I was out. Phew, mission complete using a bucket of water.

Then it struck me. Just last Friday in a good hotel in Dubai, I kicked up a fuss for not having running water for 10 minutes because of an unintentional problem and here I am with a bucket of water.

Moving on

My BlackBerry battery has drained out and there is no sign of electricity. We go out shopping and I also walk through the busiest streets in Dar es Salaam. It is crowded, lively with bars blasting music and mosque playing previously recorded religious lectures. Everything is sold everywhere – in covered shops, on the ground, on carts, on bicycles, on top of heads and on hands. My cousin’s husband has rented out commercial space from a restaurant just for Ramadan to sell children Eid’s clothes. I was so careful and paranoid to pull out a camera to take any picture because of the pick pockets. As I was walking through the muddy streets, my abaya was lifted up so that I don’t touch the dirty rain water on the roads (didn’t care if it reached my knees) and I hung on to my handbag like it was my life. I kept pulling down my abaya sleeve so as to not attract the thieves to my watch and I know I stand out because of the passing comments from men lazing around waiting for nothing. I am suspicious of everyone but my cousin who is dodging cars and bikes for us to walk through, which by the way, are passing right under our toes.  Obviously, I am also paranoid by nature.

We also drove through the slums in a jeep and got stared at like, aliens. Poverty was rampant and out of control. It’s heartrending but this guilt pays me a visit and is at a minimum when I am caught up in my regular life back in Dubai. So here I am with my BlackBerry blinking and dying to be fed with electricity, waiting to crack my Iftaar with candle light and lost in guilt-ridden thoughts.

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I like the French but if I ever get citizenship I will not bleach my face or make frog legs my staple diet or replace my good ol’ Shani with red wine or forcefully speak English with a thick French accent & refuse to speak the language  that I grew up to.

Yes I will infuse, understand, participate, adopt and celebrate the culture & its values. Having said that, I will always remember positively my “previous” ethnic influences.

I don’t know French but I like the way it sounds. I especially like to make connections with these two French words “Nouveau riche” & “Parvenu“ with certain new acquired Emirati citizens. We all know that, with thanks to Allah & to our generous leaders of UAE, many nationalities have managed to acquire UAE citizenship like of Zanzibar, Palestinian, Iraqi, Yemeni, Iranian, Sudanese, Pakistani origins etc. It is truly a treasure to be a citizen of UAE. Don’t get me wrong – getting UAE citizenship does not automatically qualify you to a passport to the good life; you still have to work hard for a good living in UAE whether you are a national or expatriate. I always believe that you only get what Allah has destined for you to get – “Rizk” comes from only Allah.

Now I will go back to these two French words and point out a some of the attributes of certain “Nouveau Emiratis” & their futile battle of getting social prominence:

1. You will hear someone who has been called all his life Fadi or Ramy or whose birth name starts with the letter P  and soon after the acquisition they transform to a Butti or a Hazaa? Is this necessary?

2. They will change their circle of friends or social circle of friends or even their non Emirati loved ones. Even if these friends were your childhood or your high school friends when you used to play with them “shur6a 7araami” on the stair cases in the ghettos of Karama.

3. They find the need to buy a flashy four wheel car with a two to four digit plate number. Did I mention, over 30% tinted windows & a picture of one of the Emirates Rulers stuck?

Now there is a certain pedigree whose parents were sharp to put them in private educated schools in the 80’s & 90’s or rather had no choice because “one day they will go back to their home countries & English is the universal language”. So obviously they have a good command in English communication; if this off spring are even smarter they optimise on their education and become commentators, opinion leaders, feel the need to be seen around by the it crowd, engage in “community, volunteering work” – basically top notch PR skills. Honestly speaking, props to them for these PR skills.

It is this pedigree who make it a point to exhibit and overly emphasise to their ex friends or non Emirati relatives that they a part of another social rank. It is this defence mechanism and resistance to come in terms with their past nationality that causes them to have their guard up to prove their citizenship.

The Message: Be proud of whom you are and don’t try so hard to renounce or de associate yourself with your origins; it looks like you are a forged Emirati and you end up shooting yourself on the foot.