You'd have to be living under a rock in the desert to be unaware of how dangerous it is to drive here in the UAE. On the drive from RAK to Dubai, the side of the road is literally strewn with burned- out tyres and car parts and you're guaranteed to spot at least one major accident on any journey lasting longer than half an hour.
It's a topic which occupies much headline space and even has its own facebook group 'if you can drive in the UAE you can drive anywhere'. I joined this group, not because it was going to achieve anything (much like 'liking' a group called 'murder is wrong' isn't going to throw potential murderers into a moral dilemma and stop them in their murderous tracks) but because it creates a sense of belonging among a small, marginalised minority- i.e. those people in this country who can actually drive.
As I see it, the problem lies with two distinct groups- i) those who seem to have no idea how to take a left hand turn, join a roundabout or enter a junction, driving around in 20 year old jalopies crammed to capacity and ii) those young indigenous males - boy racers if you will -who are under the impression that aggressive speeding equates to large genitalia.
Without doubt the latter group are the most annoying and dangerous. Nothing is more likely to send me careering into a motorway barrier than a glance in the rear-view mirror at the sudden sight of a large white Landcruiser hurtling towards me at 180km per hour, lights flashing, horn beeping, screaming at me to get the hell out the way like some mechanical monster.
With a jolt you realise that it's either move or die as these idiots are quite mad enough to plough into the back of you just to prove a point. Of course, congenitally truculent, I have on occasion refused to move; righteous in the knowledge that I am in fact observing the speed limit and that if the demented idiot behind me is in such a rush to get to Starbucks then he'd better go around me. That just makes them madder, resulting in said car attempting to overtake on the left hand side.
Personally I think the problem could be solved by B&Q- the DIY Superstore- setting up shop here in the UAE. Men are essentially cavemen and as such are competitive, goal-driven providers. These traits are usually expressed via work, sport or DIY but I'm willing to bet that the majority of these road-pests are lacking these elements to their lives; ergo the only arena they have to express their inner alpha-male is on the roads. Were they forced to spend their weekends tiling the bathroom floor or laying a deck, it's feasible that they'd be transformed into pussycats once they got behind the wheel.
Of course, I'm being simplistic; culture is a difficult thing to change which is why my above solution wouldn't actually work. The culture of servants (slaves?) here is something that isn't going to change any time soon so it is unlikely that the average young man is about to spend an afternoon putting up shelves in the living room when he has a servant to do the task for him.
Similarly, the average young mother will have at least one nanny to take care of her children (it's not unusual to see two nannies for two children) which is why a university in Ajman has recently offered a new four-year degree- programme in 'the mothering profession' which claims to cover everything from women's rights (importantish) to pedicures (priority).
Many of these women have been raised by nannies themselves which means that they have no experience of what a mother actually does. The course aims to equip them to take care of their own children, something which is practically unheard of in this neck of the woods for certain nationalities.
Of course, it's an interesting question - 'can mothering (or slightly more PC - parenting) be taught?' Parenting books are big business these days and there is a culture of fear surrounding parenting where common sense and instinct seems to have been replaced with theoretical models and psychobabble.
I remember getting home from the hospital after my daughter was born and feeling overwhelmed by the task in hand. 'What should I do?' I wondered as I stood in my living room and looked around me. I was pretty sure I was supposed to be super-stressed, exhausted and constantly busy but as I looked at the little girl asleep in her crib I realised that there was nothing to do but wait for her wake up.
Had I read all the parenting literature I'm sure I would have been panicking about her next feed, her weight, her temperature. As it was, we spent the mornings walking to the village to buy milk and glossy magazines and the afternoons snoozing in front of Judge Judy. Ah happy times....
It's a topic which occupies much headline space and even has its own facebook group 'if you can drive in the UAE you can drive anywhere'. I joined this group, not because it was going to achieve anything (much like 'liking' a group called 'murder is wrong' isn't going to throw potential murderers into a moral dilemma and stop them in their murderous tracks) but because it creates a sense of belonging among a small, marginalised minority- i.e. those people in this country who can actually drive.
As I see it, the problem lies with two distinct groups- i) those who seem to have no idea how to take a left hand turn, join a roundabout or enter a junction, driving around in 20 year old jalopies crammed to capacity and ii) those young indigenous males - boy racers if you will -who are under the impression that aggressive speeding equates to large genitalia.
Without doubt the latter group are the most annoying and dangerous. Nothing is more likely to send me careering into a motorway barrier than a glance in the rear-view mirror at the sudden sight of a large white Landcruiser hurtling towards me at 180km per hour, lights flashing, horn beeping, screaming at me to get the hell out the way like some mechanical monster.
With a jolt you realise that it's either move or die as these idiots are quite mad enough to plough into the back of you just to prove a point. Of course, congenitally truculent, I have on occasion refused to move; righteous in the knowledge that I am in fact observing the speed limit and that if the demented idiot behind me is in such a rush to get to Starbucks then he'd better go around me. That just makes them madder, resulting in said car attempting to overtake on the left hand side.
Personally I think the problem could be solved by B&Q- the DIY Superstore- setting up shop here in the UAE. Men are essentially cavemen and as such are competitive, goal-driven providers. These traits are usually expressed via work, sport or DIY but I'm willing to bet that the majority of these road-pests are lacking these elements to their lives; ergo the only arena they have to express their inner alpha-male is on the roads. Were they forced to spend their weekends tiling the bathroom floor or laying a deck, it's feasible that they'd be transformed into pussycats once they got behind the wheel.
Of course, I'm being simplistic; culture is a difficult thing to change which is why my above solution wouldn't actually work. The culture of servants (slaves?) here is something that isn't going to change any time soon so it is unlikely that the average young man is about to spend an afternoon putting up shelves in the living room when he has a servant to do the task for him.
Similarly, the average young mother will have at least one nanny to take care of her children (it's not unusual to see two nannies for two children) which is why a university in Ajman has recently offered a new four-year degree- programme in 'the mothering profession' which claims to cover everything from women's rights (importantish) to pedicures (priority).
Many of these women have been raised by nannies themselves which means that they have no experience of what a mother actually does. The course aims to equip them to take care of their own children, something which is practically unheard of in this neck of the woods for certain nationalities.
Of course, it's an interesting question - 'can mothering (or slightly more PC - parenting) be taught?' Parenting books are big business these days and there is a culture of fear surrounding parenting where common sense and instinct seems to have been replaced with theoretical models and psychobabble.
I remember getting home from the hospital after my daughter was born and feeling overwhelmed by the task in hand. 'What should I do?' I wondered as I stood in my living room and looked around me. I was pretty sure I was supposed to be super-stressed, exhausted and constantly busy but as I looked at the little girl asleep in her crib I realised that there was nothing to do but wait for her wake up.
Had I read all the parenting literature I'm sure I would have been panicking about her next feed, her weight, her temperature. As it was, we spent the mornings walking to the village to buy milk and glossy magazines and the afternoons snoozing in front of Judge Judy. Ah happy times....
And finally...
I finally paid a visit to the famous 'Barracuda'- the massive off-license situated in Umm Al Qawainn. I'm still reeling from the fact that I've lived ten minutes away from it for over a year and yet never bothered to check it out. It's magic! As I wandered around filling my trolley I was overcome with a feeling of contentment and belonging and found myself smiling conspiratorially with the other customers 'isn't this a wonderful find?' I wanted to confide but nobody else seemed as impressed as I was.
Like a child in a sweet shop I dashed from aisle to aisle holding items aloft and yelling to DH 'hey, four litres of wine for 70 dirham's!! Can it be true?....oh wait, look at this - five litres for 75 dirham's! I'm in wino nirvana!'. Hugging my trolley protectively I paid at the checkout and walked, half-ran out of the sliding doors dogged by an irrational fear that the manager would come running out behind me yelling 'sorry ma'am, it's been a mistake....it shouldn't be so cheap'.
Although, on a more sobering note (so to speak) I did make the baffling discovery last week that my Dubai Islamic Bank card, which has been refused several times in our local Cellar off-license, is not allowed to be used to buy alcohol: the clue was the Islamic part of the name although it had never been explained to me before - the guy on the checkout clearly preferring to see me squirm with embarrassment at having my card refused each time.
Bizarre as it sounds, I was forced to leave my stash behind me on the counter, jump in my car and seek out an ATM, climb back in to my car and return to the off-license whereupon I was obliged to hand over the cash manually.
As I walked through the car park, black bags straining from the 4 for 100 dirhams special-offer, I was amused to see the boy-racers sitting behind their blacked out windows in their Landcruisers, beeping impatiently at the staff to hurry up and hand over their vodka. No, on reflection, I really don't think a weekend grouting the bathroom tiles is on the books for these guys any time soon...
I finally paid a visit to the famous 'Barracuda'- the massive off-license situated in Umm Al Qawainn. I'm still reeling from the fact that I've lived ten minutes away from it for over a year and yet never bothered to check it out. It's magic! As I wandered around filling my trolley I was overcome with a feeling of contentment and belonging and found myself smiling conspiratorially with the other customers 'isn't this a wonderful find?' I wanted to confide but nobody else seemed as impressed as I was.
Like a child in a sweet shop I dashed from aisle to aisle holding items aloft and yelling to DH 'hey, four litres of wine for 70 dirham's!! Can it be true?....oh wait, look at this - five litres for 75 dirham's! I'm in wino nirvana!'. Hugging my trolley protectively I paid at the checkout and walked, half-ran out of the sliding doors dogged by an irrational fear that the manager would come running out behind me yelling 'sorry ma'am, it's been a mistake....it shouldn't be so cheap'.
Although, on a more sobering note (so to speak) I did make the baffling discovery last week that my Dubai Islamic Bank card, which has been refused several times in our local Cellar off-license, is not allowed to be used to buy alcohol: the clue was the Islamic part of the name although it had never been explained to me before - the guy on the checkout clearly preferring to see me squirm with embarrassment at having my card refused each time.
Bizarre as it sounds, I was forced to leave my stash behind me on the counter, jump in my car and seek out an ATM, climb back in to my car and return to the off-license whereupon I was obliged to hand over the cash manually.
As I walked through the car park, black bags straining from the 4 for 100 dirhams special-offer, I was amused to see the boy-racers sitting behind their blacked out windows in their Landcruisers, beeping impatiently at the staff to hurry up and hand over their vodka. No, on reflection, I really don't think a weekend grouting the bathroom tiles is on the books for these guys any time soon...
