Ma as-salaamah Abu Dhabi

I'm home now in the US - not at Port Zayed, overlooking the skyline of Abu Dhabi (as above).

So this is my last post. Ma as-salaamah everyone.

A friend asked me recently how it felt to be home. She'd heard that returning to one's own culture could be harder, even, than moving to a new culture. Without thinking I said I felt numb.

And that's about where I am. I feel apart from my day-to-day activities, as if I'm doing things but not experiencing them. When people ask if I'm happy to be home, I always say yes. I think I am, but I'm not entirely sure.

My time in Abu Dhabi softened me, allowed me to shed some earlier sadnesses. When I moved to Abu Dhabi I brought the one lesson I'd taken from losing loved ones - that life is short - and imbedded it in my mind and heart. I used it as a motivator to overcome my natural shyness and get as much out of my time in the UAE as possible.

But as I told this friend that I felt numb lately, I realized that I remain someone who shuts off sadness, who won't look at it or deal with it. But I do store it, way down in my heart. Whether I'll ever open it up and breath it in I don't know.

At the same time, I also feel great joy about my two years in Abu Dhabi. I had times there that made me incredibly happy, that reassured me about the world, about people, about the future. I found over and over again that regardless of our origins, people are much the same: we worry about our loved ones, about our health, about the future of our planet. We want peace, at least the vast majority of us do. And we want to feel connected.

What I take away most from Abu Dhabi are the friendships. Not only did I make great friends in Abu Dhabi, but M and our children did too.

I will also never forget the beauty of the place. The emirate of Abu Dhabi is magnificent. I never grew tired of the flowers along the wide boulevards, nor the palm trees along the Gulf. But the desert is what I'm really talking about here. The desert is ostensibly a brutal domain, with a harsh, unrelenting sun pouring down on a vast barrenness. And certainly this can be accurate. But the desert is also a place where one can feel incredibly free and peaceful. The seemingly endless rolling hills of sand, the dunes constantly being re-shaped by the wind, the powder-blue sky above the golden-tan landscape, and the surprising presence of animals, occasional flora and fauna, all made a deep impression on me. I felt both more serene and alive in the desert.

I didn't write much this summer, since returning home. Every time I started I felt my words were inadequate. But I set a deadline to end this blog.

So here it is, I say good-bye.

Thank you to anyone who bothered to linger on this blog. I wrote it for you. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for letting me share my affection for Abu Dhabi and the UAE with you. And thank you to everyone who wrote to me on the blog and on my email. I felt understood and heard when you wrote in. Once again, it was the gift of the human connection I so enjoy.

Will I ever return to Abu Dhabi? I don't know. I've just begun a master's degree in Teaching English as a Second Language. In addition, I am endeavoring to learn as much as I can about the Islamic/Arab/Asian world. For example, yesterday I took part in a two-day workshop on Afghanistan in Boston.

My imagination and my intellect were sparked by my time in Abu Dhabi. But most of all, Abu Dhabi, my temporary home, touched my heart.

P.S. My e-mail address is flowersinthesand@hotmail.com if anyone wants to get in touch. Now it's really ma as-salaamah, wallah!

Pics of UAE

Here's a few additional photos, taken by M as usual, from our time in the UAE. Above is a roundabout in Fujairah.

Sheikh Zayed Bin Sultan Al Nahyan Mosque, Abu Dhabi (above).

Outdoor Mass, Christmas 2007, at St. Joseph's Catholic Church, Abu Dhabi. It was a beautiful night, quiet and peaceful though thousands attended that Mass.

Some More of Abu Dhabi

Khalifa Park on opening weekend last winter, with two of my sons.

A mosque, beautifully lit at night in Abu Dhabi.

Sheikh Zayed Bin Sultan Al Nahyan Mosque in Abu Dhabi.

Abu Dhabi - Pics I Like

Here's a view (above) I had every time I walked from my car to our catholic church, St. Joseph's. It is of a walkway into Sheikh Mohammed Bin Zayed Mosque, which borders St. Joseph's Catholic Church.

This is the Eastern Corniche, near where we lived in Abu Dhabi. Above are two of my sons and a cousin fishing in January.

A view looking outside, (from inside) the Emirates Palace Hotel.

Khalifa Park, where I saw my favorite thing: flowers in the sand.

More Pics of Abu Dhabi

A Few Pics of Abu Dhabi

This month I will close this blog for good. I'm back in the US now; it's definitely time.

I haven't posted much lately because I'm not quite sure what I want to say.

Flowers in the Sand, Abu Dhabi has been a signifcant part of my life for the past 18-or-so months. It's not easy to say khalas. (For the umpteenth time, please forgive atrocious attempt at Arabic spelling.)

With the end in sight, I thought I'd post a few pictures of AD now and again. Unless noted, all were taken by M.

Above is a view of the east side of Abu Dhabi, from the Abu Dhabi Mall. The Beach Rotana pool is visible below the Gulf.

This was taken near the Cultural Foundation and Airport Road.

A side street in Abu Dhabi at night: lots of cars parked here, there, and everywhere.

Before Leaving Abu Dhabi

Before we left Abu Dhabi, our eldest child graduated high school.

"What hotel is your graduation in?" a friend asked on the phone a few days before the big event.

"We're at the Intercon, how about yours?" I said.

It's a funny thing here (in Abu Dhabi), but all the high school graduations I know of took place in a swanky hotel. At home in the US, they are almost always held on the school grounds, either in the gymnasium or under a large tent erected for the day. After the ceremony, families go either home or to a restaurant. They have a large, "open house" family party for the new graduate. Even posh boarding schools follow this practice.

Our son's graduation ceremony was followed by a dinner dance at the same hotel. This was lovely, too, but had the feel of a wedding (an American wedding). It was also quite expensive and our younger children were not allowed to attend. (There was an age cut-off.) It was a nice evening, but I still vote for the American-style graduation.

*Our children attended an international school in Abu Dhabi. This post does not reflect local graduation customs.

Some Pics From Recent Activities

When our next-door neighbors from Abu Dhabi visited recently, we went kayaking on the Contoocook River in New Hampshire. We were a party of four parents and eight off-spring (ages 18 down to 9 years old). Each of us had his own kayak save for me and my ten-year-old son, who shared a double.

For more than three hours we paddled along nine miles of a slow and winding river. As if to add emphasis to the natural beauty we were experiencing, dragonflies soared and dipped above us on the water, occasionally landing on our kayaks.

There is something very pure about this kind of thing -a physical endeavor shared with such a range of ages. I just loved it. I think all of us did, especially we parents. (Those children of mine who read this blog are now groaning. Wait 'til you're a parent, I say.)

Another day we took a drive to the Nubble Lighthouse (above) in York, Maine. Very beau.

Of course all this touring required lunch beside a scenic spot along the water in Maine.

Home

We sleep with the windows open, something we did only in the winter in Abu Dhabi.

Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night and a summer breeze brushes my face and I am cold. I can hardly believe it. This morning I peeled back our cotton bedspread and added a blanket over the sheet. At the foot of the bed I put a quilt, just in case the blanket doesn't do the trick.

In my effort to "re-bond" with my home, this morning I decided to work in the garden. The air was chilly and damp. We've had many days of clouds and rain. I put on a sweater, an old gray cashmere pullover that was my mother's. It felt nice. I remember now that it took me a while to find the right balance, vis a vis clothing, in Abu Dhabi's heat: to wear clothes that didn't make me even hotter while also being mostly covered.

Next I stepped into a pair of green rubber boots I keep in the garage for gardening. Suddenly I felt like Beatrix Potter's Mr. McGregor, when he finds Peter Rabbit has eaten all his lettuce: my right sock was stuck to the bottom of the boot. A chipmunk - or another animal from the woods - must have found a stray piece of candy, dropped by one of my children, and hid it in my boot for the coming winter.

Flowers in New Hampshire

Since I returned home I've been busy unpacking, painting rooms to suit my new tastes even as I talk to old friends on the phone, and seeing loved ones. I also took weeklong trip to Ireland to visit my grandmother and attend a writing workshop.

Then I had to face the fact that for a while at least, my travelling is over. Naturally I have mixed feelings about this. It doesn't surprise me that I miss Abu Dhabi since there was so much I loved about living there. In another post I'll discuss what I miss about living in the UAE.

For now I offer two pics of flowers growing in my New Hampshire garden. They certainly were a welcome sight upon our arrival home at the end of June.

In the photo of daisies above, in the distance is a large rock on our front lawn. Young children love to climb on it. They usually stand on the flat parts and sort of pose, as if they are royalty.

Above here is one of the hollyhocks blooming near the mudroom door. They grow to about eight feet tall. They're so sturdy they remind me of Jack and the Beanstalk's bean plants that grow into the clouds.

Mount Kearsarge, New Hampshire

Our neighbors from Abu Dhabi, with their two teenage sons, visited us recently. Being that they're a couple from Scotland and Egypt, and have lived in the Middle East for more than 15 years, we tried to do quintessential New Hampshire activities with them.

The first day of their visit, both our families hiked a mountain a short ride from our home. It was a sparkling day, dry and sunny and not too hot. All we needed were sturdy shoes and a hat or sunglasses. Above is me on the way up the mountain.

Above is some of our party relaxing on the top of the mountain. It was a good five or ten degrees cooler at the peak and the views were magnificent.

In the very far distance you can see the outline of the White Mountains. Below are the evergreen trees you see all over New Hampshire.

Understanding Emiratis

It's easy to live in the UAE and co-exist with the country's "locals" but never get to know them. Some ex-pats are fine with that, but I was not. I was more than curious. I felt I wouldn't have really experienced this country if I never engaged with its people. Then I met "Sunshine," a nickname my local friend said to use for her.

I was more than fortunate to have made friends with a local and to meet her friends. For those interested in learning about people of the Emirates, the link below to an essay in The National, the new newspaper from Abu Dhabi, is helpful.

Respect: it’s the key to understanding Emirati identity
comment Bushra al Hahshemi
The National - News
22 Jul 2008

"The late Sir David Roberts, the British ambassador to the United Arab Emirates from 1977-81, wrote in a foreword to This Strange Eventful History, the memoirs of another British diplomat, Edward Henderson in 1988: “A diplomat might speak excellent...read more...

We Are Home

We are home. Suitcases, boxes, sneakers cover every surface.

The air is cool, damp even, and I tend to move about with a sweater on my shoulders. Even so, I have just about every window in the house open at least a quarter way. The air is clear and smells so fresh I wish I could bottle it.

We had thunder and lightning the day we arrived, and then the next day too. It reminded me of the man-made thunder and rain storms at Wild Wadi in Dubai except that it was God-made, the real thing. The first day back, I stepped out of the car and into a large puddle - my foot and shoe immediately soaking - and was hit with the reality of being in New Hampshire.

I revel in the coolness and greenness of my surroundings - the grass, the trees, even the large, lettuce-like leaves on a pot of pale pink gerbera daisies that a friend brought over. Before we arrived, another friend bought us groceries and left yellow cala lilies in a pot on the kitchen counter. My tenants left two pots of African violets, too. Of course I'm delighted with all.

The shrubs I planted over the years around the house - holly, yews, rhododendrons, and azaleas - have grown so much in my absence. Like children I haven't seen for a time, they have shot up while my back was turned.

One disappointment was that two yews (evergreen trees) I'd been watching grow into tall, column-shaped shrubs on the far left corner of the house are now bare to their trunks. They've been eaten to their cores, like apples, by deer.

The natural pull towards friends and away from unpacking is taking place amongst all of us. We are still trying to find the balance.

Moving, A Heart Like Stone

We are in the midst of the big move.

The men packing our stuff have raised their job to something of an art form. The box they made to wrap around a small coffee table is worthy of a picture. The camera is about the only thing not boxed...

Did a speed-viewing of the Picasso art exhibit on display at the Emirates Palace yesterday. Am amazed at the Emirati government's effort to bring education and the arts here. This is why, I believe, this country has a great future: because they invest in endeavors that enhance a civilized society.
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A good friend of mine has said the thought of our departure has brought her to tears more than once. Another good friend, whom I bade farewall to today, cried as we said our goodbyes. I felt very sad too, but I was surprised how composed I was.

"I'm not crying on the outside but I'm crying on the inside," I said.

I felt then that my heart was like a stone. I don't know why I haven't cried over leaving Abu Dhabi when I love it so much, when I am so sad to leave. I think I'm operating in another mode, my brain unable to let my feelings surface. Maybe if I sat down long enough, with no interruptions, maybe I could take in the enormity of what it has meant to move here, live here and now leave here.

To anyone still reading, please forgive choppy sentences - blame it on the move.

Emirati Weddings

Emirati weddings.

You know someone whose relative is getting married, so you are welcome.

You get very dressed up. You put on a long dress, do your hair and makeup and for good measure you throw on some bling. If you have an abaya you wear it, otherwise you bring a pashmina.

You arrive at the wedding hall or hotel at 9 o'clock at night, when the ladies-only party typically starts.

You are greeted warmly at the door by 10 or so of the bride/groom's close female relatives. They are extremely dressed up, with more makeup than you've ever seen a woman wear in your life. You are surprised at the elaborate dresses they wear, which draw attention to their figures, to say the least: cleavage is really on display, and maybe a midsection on a gown or two will be see-through. Their gowns appear custom made because they fit like gloves.

Everyone says "welcome," shakes your hands, maybe kisses your cheeks. You really do feel like an honored guest. You're glad you got dressed up; you'd feel like part of the beige-colored walls in the lobby right now if you hadn't.

You walk into a lavishly-decorated ballroom: the bride's chosen colors are maroon and pale yellow or maybe mint green, and everything from the flowers to the table clothes and the chairs has these colors. There is a stage at one end of the large room, with a maroon velvet sofa-bench positioned in front of a maroon velvet backdrop, where you imagine the bride will sit when she arrives.

You find seats with your friends at a table. Arabic coffee and tea are offered, along with fruit juices and sodas.

Hummus, moutabal, fatoush, and some sweets are passed around the table. Deliciously-cooked lamb - as in most of the carcass including the head - on rice is served on a huge platter. There's also harees, a traditional lamb/wheat dish, and other foods at your table.

At 10 or 11 o'clock, the lights go out and a spotlight shines on the far end of the room. The bride appears. She is dressed in an elaborate, white wedding gown. She walks very slowly down the center aisle, pausing to pose for the cameras. She looks nervous, but her appearance is absolutely perfect. She walks up the steps of the stage and poses for more pictures. Finally she sits down on the sofa. The guests line up and greet her on the stage and lots of pictures follow.

A little later the close, young female relatives dance before the bride on and off the stage. Are they on display for mothers of potential grooms to check out?

The music is very different from western music. It is all in Arabic, and it has a fantastic rolling drum beat that makes you wish you could dance too.

Around midnight, an announcement is made in Arabic. Suddenly there is a wave of black moving over the room. Every lady in the room is covering her head with her shayla, some adding their burqa or niqab over their faces. If you don't have a shayla or even a pashmina you will want to duck under the table, so strong is this wave of covering in this room now.

Then the groom enters, wearing the formal gold-edged garment the royal family wears over their kanduras on special occasions. He is flanked by his father and brothers and uncles. Maybe there are twenty men and some boys altogether.

Now you notice the bride's face is covered with a white cloth.

The groom and his party go up to the stage and stand by the bride and many photos are taken.

The groom's party leaves the stage and they dance among themselves close to the foot of the stage. Some of them can really dance. (The groom remains with his bride on stage.) Then an older gentleman among them suddently whips his camel stick in the air several times and all at once the men turn and leave the room.

Now the bride's face is uncovered. She and the groom chat as they greet the ladies who wish them well. Cake and other sweets, as well as coffee, are served.

The newly-weds leave together. The wedding is over.

When In Abu Dhabi

Just before we moved to Abu Dhabi two years ago, I bought something I'd never owned before: a ball gown.


Having lived in New Hampshire for more than a decade, I was accustomed to donning waterproof boots, jeans, and a good wool sweater when I left the house. I wore heels only to church on Sunday - that is, if it wasn't snowing, raining, muddy, or icy.

I remember the day I bought this fancy long dress. I was in New York for the weekend, clearing out my family home after my mother died. I took a break from what was a sad task and decided to check out a nice clothing shop nearby. I spotted an elaborate silk ball gown in the "clearance" corner.

Was I crazy? I'd entered the shop in search of conservative, lightweight, cotton skirts and pants for hot weather in a Muslim country, and now I was holding a ball gown. Maybe not, I told myself. I remembered reading it was handy to have something formal in Abu Dhabi.

I nervously paid for the dress, half feeling that such things were for other ladies and not me. But as the clerk carefully pulled a garment bag over the gown, she smiled and said, "Lucky you to have somewhere to wear this." Even in this upscale New York shop, most of the apparently affluent customers were buying casual clothes.

As I pack for the move home, I see five ball gowns in my closet*, and it doesn't seem like such a big deal.

*(Now I'll see if M really reads this blog. By the way, I didn't pay very much for any one of these dresses: it's a surprising thing that you can easily find affordable ball gowns in Abu Dhabi. Really.)

Me and My Abaya

I went to an Emirati wedding recently. It was a rare chance to wear my abaya, a gift from an Emirati friend last year. These pictures were taken before my two friends and I left for the ladies-only party that began around 9 p.m.

I've been to three Emirati weddings. I will write about them soon. For now I just wanted to post something on my blog to show I'm still here.

A Parting Gift

I have a plant that for two years has never bloomed.

But about a week ago, a ball-like orange flower appeared atop the plant's bushy leaves. Like a spray of fireworks in the night sky.

Now there are twelve blooms on this plant.

A parting gift? This is what I'm thinking.

In late June I'll leave this place I love, Abu Dhabi, knowing full well I may never come back and that regardless, life will go on here after I'm gone. At the risk of sounding morbid, it reminds me a little of death: that's how it is for people who know they're not long for this world and are cognizant of the fact that their loved ones will get up the day after their demise. Their favorite people will move on, as they should, despite their absence.

What will happen to my flowers, I ask myself in the middle of the night. The petunias, which have outlasted most in the city, as well as the impatiens, I will toss lest they wither and become an eyesore for my neighbors. The bougainvillea and my cycads tree,"Jameel," (forgive spelling), which is Arabic for "beautiful," will go to my Emirati friend, Manaal (not her real name).

When I see Manaal lately she asks, "How is you jameel?" and I answer, "You mean how is your jameel," and we laugh. Other things, like hair dryers and kettles, I will just give away. I'm no good at garage sales and the like.

It's not all sad and bad, though. As we get closer to our leave date, my mind is full of the smells of home: the beginning of spring, with the air cool and clean and mild after a long winter, which always make me feel a surge of freedom and energy; the evergreen trees around my New Hampshire home; the dark, wet earth in my hands when I dig holes for news plants and move others around for the coming season; the fresh air coming through the window in the morning as I lay in bed or stand at the kitchen sink washing a pot.

I am distracted and unable to concentrate lately. I flit from task to task like a fly. I give away clothes the kids have outgrown, throw away unnecessary papers, and purchase things we cannot get anywhere but here. I trade recipes with ladies from other countries and try to see friends one more time before we go. I attend the children's school activities and shuttle them to social/academic events.

When I see Manaal, I say let's not talk about my imminent departure. This is chiefly because I don't know when and if I will ever see her again. (I have this feeling in general and all the time, that we don't know what tomorrow will bring and if the people we love will be with us/alive next year).

We touch on a variety of subjects, but naturally the conversation returns to my leave date. She stops talking, looks away. Her kohl-outlined eyes are full of water. I look away too, for a moment, and then one of us changes the subject.

Doha

With all my children promising they wouldn't cook (we've had at least three near fires) and no one would do a handstand into a brother or sister's mouth (my 10-year-old nearly lost a tooth recently when his younger brother enthusiastically practiced gymnastics), I took off for Doha, Qatar last week.

I joined M in Doha for two nights at the end of his business trip there. I didn't have time to see much of the city, but what I did see I liked. Doha is smaller than Abu Dhabi and much of it is under construction, but it seemed quiet and calm. (The numerous roundabouts, I think, would make the driving difficult. But separate from that, I've heard the locals are more friendly to ex-pats than in Abu Dhabi.)

Above is the championship football game we attended on the last night of the trip. It was fun to watch the two Qatar teams, both supported by thousands of fans in the stands, play their best for first place. The tied game went into overtime three times, finally ending with a competition of penalty kicks wherein the first team to get 6 goals won.

After the orange team made the winning goal and both teams were congratulated by the emir of Qatar, huge streams of confetti flew out of "cannons" on the field, followed by magnifcent fireworks.

Qatar is a dry country, and I believe the pleasant atmosphere at the game was owing to this. There was no vulgarity or bad behavior in the stands - nice for female attendees, in particular.

The hotel we stayed at was ultra luxurious and therefore super-relaxing. I felt like a celebrity, since everywhere I went the staff knew my name. I felt so pampered that I didn't even mind that I resembled a male lion after getting my hair washed and blown dry at the hotel salon. (A few brush strokes and I was back to the real me.)

Summer Approaches, Petunias Go

Nearly all the petunias around Abu Dhabi have been pulled up and discarded as the warm weather takes hold. The green-jumpsuited workers, their backs bent over the city's flower beds so many months this winter, now spend their days trimming lawns and squatting by sprinklers, watching to see if the water sprays the right way.

I clipped, fertlized and watered my own petunias this morning. They're definitely not ready for the trash can. I really think it's possible that my flowers can make another great showing before we leave Abu Dhabi. And tomorrow I will get someone to help me turn my incredibly heavy cycads tree - I think he's getting a little sun burn.

As I move about the city, the heat produces a thin coat of water on my face. The body's natural cooling system is amazing. Someone told me that women in the Gulf have fewer wrinkles because the perspiration on their faces prevents their skin from getting too dry. There's a silver lining to everything.