Glitz and glamour in the UAE and why the hijab is the same as a bikini...

There is an article in this months‘She’ magazine describing the expat lifestyle in Dubai.  It serves up the usual profusion of adjectives such as ‘luxurious’, ‘opulent’ and ‘lavish’ to describe the lives of those of us living in the UAE.  

Gold vending machine Abu Dhabi

As I type, I’m sitting in my lavish, diamond-encrusted study, on a platinum chair imported from Brunei, typing on my gold-plated keyboard.  And while we’re in the realm of fantasy, the plumbing in my luxurious villa on the beach actually works, the kitchen sink in my designer kitchen doesn’t leak onto all the products underneath it and it’s possible to lock my back door.   

While undoubtedly Dubai is the poster-child for all that is glitzy, expensive and just plain gauche; the champagne brunches, glittering malls and luxurious villas certainly do exist here-  this is not the lifestyle that I or any of my friends experience.

In fact, Christmas day was the first time we’d experienced the legendary boozy hotel buffet: there were the obligatory ice -sculptures and chocolate-fountains, and I must admit that we hopped onto a little golf trolley down to the beach for after-dinner drinks, but this was quite a novelty for us.  We’re more likely to be found eating from the Rupee Room in the local mall or a cheap and cheerful pizza restaurant at the marina (which tragically suffers from a lack of wine license). 

Ras al Khaimah is about an hour north of Dubai and is very much it’s shabbier, less affluent, younger sibling.  It’s also a lot more down to earth than its more prosperous sister.  There are a couple of four star hotels as well as the ongoing construction of a preposterous seven star hotel (badly needed in the community) but really, most people I know prefer to drink in a shabby shack on a stretch of beach on the outskirts of RAK called the Sailing Club.  

The atmosphere in this expat outpost is unpretentious and the booze is cheap (a glass of wine is 10 dirham’s as opposed to almost 40 in the hotels) and the children play in the sand or paddle in the sea while the adults drink, chat and sometimes take to the mike for a song.

And most people we know, rather than the luxurious trips to Beirut or Goa described in ‘She’, tend to go camping on the beach in Oman, which is just up the road.

Obviously I don’t do camping – 3 weeks in a tent bumming from Bordeaux to Biarritz as a 22 year old was enough to quell that particular avenue of interest (both for me and DH) -but certainly this sort of trip is more realistic for us than staying in 5 star hotels quaffing champagne (not that I am repulsed by the idea you understand).

UAE in the papers

The UAE does suffer from pretty negative international press: deservedly so some would say.  The juxtaposition of the footballers wives glitz and glamour, with the attention-grabbing, fear-inducing headlines (bikini lady/kissing couple/sex on the beach idiots) means that any desire to visit the place is quickly negated by the risks involved.

Personally I think it’s a country suffering from an identity crisis.  It at once covets a reputation as an international tourist destination, offering shops and hotels which can (arguably) rival those of London, Paris and New York, while conversely and periodically stamping its conservative foot to reassert its status as an Islamic country and demanding to be respected as such.  

While most people I know wear what they want and drink when they want with little interference, there will be the occasional scape-goat trotted out before the courts and the press as an example of what can happen should you flout the rules regarding respect and decency. 

Much as I despise the idea of Saudi Arabia, at least it’s not pretending to be anything other than it is; I know I will never set foot in the place because it has held its colours aloft and declared itself unfriendly to women and indeed anyone who values liberty.

But the UAE is a country of ambivalence.  Is it not perverse on the one hand to have an abundance of exotic underwear stores (which make Anne Summers look like the undies section of Marks and Sparks) much beloved by the local population, and on the other insist that shoulders and knees should be hidden from view?

The hijab

I have on occasion been asked to cover up in order to not offend, but who exactly am I offending? The women? The men? Neither option seems sensible to me.  Women here may insist that it is a choice to cover from head to toe in thick black swathes of fabric, often with black gloves and tights, but to my western eye it just doesn't seem to be the case, particularly during the height of summer where temperatures can reach 50 degrees; there are surely easier ways to cover.

Woman wearing hijab with niqab covering the face.

In fact, the first time I saw a woman fully covered I got such a fright my heart almost leaped into my mouth.  To me she seemed barely human, a spectre, walking towards me in the middle of the day but completely hidden from view: like a non-person. That religion could do that to a person put the final nail in the coffin in favour of atheism for me. Two and a half years later I still find the sight of a woman so controlled (whether she sees it that way or not) upsetting (and I'm  not talking about the veil in general, I'm referring to the practice of concealing the entire body).

Human interaction relies on facial expression - the covering of the face (or in some cases wearing the niqab which exposes the eyes) - ultimately silences any relations between Western women and local Muslim women, particularly here in RAK where the population are much more traditional.  While relations between Westerners and locals are strained at the best of times, this helps to ensure that this remains the status quo.

And saying that wearing the hijab is a choice is like saying a woman suffering from Stockholm syndrome, who chooses to marry her kidnapper, is rational.  What choice has a woman who comes from a tradition where every woman covers? While there is no doubt that the uncovered female body is overly objectified and sexualised in Western society, it is no less so in Muslim society where it is covered in order that it not be looked at.  In both cases it is seen as little more than a sexual object with women being the loser on both sides of the cultural divide.

Phew...how did I get to the objectification of women from jewel-encrusted appliances?

And finally......... 'House' has been replaced by 'Dexter'.  Having watched 6 and half seasons of the former I finally got up to speed and the ensuing withdrawal symptoms saw me scrambling for a replacement.  Having worked my way through Season 1 of 'Dexter' within a couple of weeks (alone), DH finally sat down with me last night to start Season 2 - he was appalled at my latest obsession, declaring me unbalanced for watching such perversity on a nightly basis.  I tried to point out that my 'House' obsession didn't result in my becoming an MD in New Jersey, so watching Dexter was unlikely to result in my becoming a serial killer in Miami - he remains unconvinced.

Disclaimer- Any opinions expressed here, however misguided or misinformed, are entirely my own.  Opinions (on culture, feminism and American prime-time TV shows) are not the preserve of academics or TV critics only and I don't claim to speak for all expats, women or Irish people.  Just thought I'd add that before people get on their high horse!

Christmas, wrapping paper, and why Santa gets too much praise...

Christmas is coming and I am still fat.  In spite of my best efforts, there is still too much of me and those slinky numbers which hang, corpse-like, in my wardrobe remain as strangers. Of course there’s not much hope of anything changing until January at this stage as the season of overindulgence beckons.

I do love Christmas, or the feelings and memories the season evokes. A time when, even in the desert, we can pretend we live in Dickensian London -of course sidestepping the fact that life at that time was actually nasty, brutish and short- instead believing that tartan is a good choice for the living room and fake garlands are a tasteful addition to the staircase banister.

It’s also a time of shameless over-spending in a manner which would make even Paris Hilton blush; of throwing things into our trolley’s, virtual or otherwise, without stopping to analyse the long term benefits of such items as a set of bath towels with snowmen on them or a family set of matching reindeer pyjamas (yes, such a thing exists and yes, I must admit I was very tempted).

Ah yes, I love it! Every year I insist to DH that I need at least one Christmas party dress even though we never get invited to any actual parties.  This year we're holding a party in the house which I have grandly entitled a 'Mulled wine and mince pie' party, which basically means that on arrival my guests will be offered a glass of gluwine and a mince pie: my duties as a hostess complete, I can get on and enjoy the rest of the night.

In fact, the only Christmas party I’ve been invited to since I got to the Middle East was DH’s work party at the Hilton in Abu Dhabi, the first year we were here. We were very excited about this party as his employer had organised a suite in the hotel for us, we had a babysitter booked to the room, a new dress from Reiss was purchased for me, and we were good to go.

When we got down to the party room we were dismayed to realise that since his company were a Saudi company, there was no alcohol being served -( isn't a non-alcoholic Christmas party an oxymoron?)

To make matters worse, the lights were on full so it felt a bit like a daytime convention.  It’s one thing to sit there wearing a party dress and a silly hat if everyone is half-cut on mulled-wine, but quite another to sit there under the glare of the overhead lights sober as a judge.

Sitting at a table surrounded by some very nice Muslim men and women, I attempted to start a debate about the relevance of the hijab in modern society but since this failed to stir up much dialogue I dropped the subject, grabbing a passing waiter instead, in the hope of a clandestine drink for DH and me.

Luckily he was amenable to this as long as we were discreet – turns out there were discreet people dotted all over the room. However, discretion gets trickier as the drinks go down and by the time a Malaysian guy on the next table started sculling brandy from the neck of a bottle, trying to hide our glasses of wine seemed a tad unnecessary.

I ended up on the dance floor believing I was Olivia Newton-John to DH’s John Travolta while the sobre on-lookers made their excuses and left.  Oddly enough, that was the last time his employer held a Christmas party.

This year we’re staying put in the UAE. Last year we went home to Ireland but it was too expensive and too cold and frankly it took about five minutes to say hello to all the people I wanted to say hello to, after which we were just filling in the time eating, drinking and buying clothes which would be totally unsuitable once our two week trip was at an end.

On Christmas eve I made the mistake of visiting my sister for ‘a drink’ before going home to do some serious gift wrapping.  I was shaken awake at two in the morning by a pleading DH

-‘please wake up, I’ve got two dozen toys here which all need wrapping and I can’t do it alone’.

-‘What?  What time is it?  How did we get home?’ I was completely disoriented.

-‘You and your sister got drunk – difference is, she’s already done all her wrapping!’ (my sister is the sort of drinking companion who insists on topping up your glass the second it becomes half-empty!)

I stumbled out, helped wrap a couple of toys then decided that this year Santa Claus was trying to be environmentally friendly and was not using wrapping paper.  Throwing the pile of toys under the tree, I staggered back to bed.  The following morning it was a bit of a free-for-all as the children scrambled under the tree for their toys.

Fortunately with three boys, the gifts were pretty much interchangeable so they didn't mind too much; and my daughter easily deduced that if it was pink, it was for her. All the while I sat there, hungover and shame-faced,  while DH glared at me accusingly.  He will never let me live it down.

It was a lesson learned – this year I’m wrapping as I go; although hiding the presents as they come in to the house is proving to be a tad difficult.  We had a baby-swing hiding in the back of the car the other day:  DH was hoping to smuggle it in while the children were asleep; but alas, it was spotted by my helpful and curious six year old while he played outside.

I was out at the time but received a call from DH who was obviously surrounded by a gaggle of children-

-‘You’ll never guess who’s visited early’ he began.

-‘Huh?’

-‘Santa has left a baby swing...hasn’t he kids...in the car...would you believe it?’

-‘Wow, that was early’ I countered.

-‘Yes, he must have meant for it to be an early Christmas present....now he’ll have to get the baby something else for Christmas day (code for- 'get something while you're out')’

Santa Claus is an expensive and praise-sapping scene-stealer, greedily pinching the credit for all the hard work that us parents put in, during the run up to Christmas, for himself. Where else in life would you put a ton of work, time and money into something and then turn around and happily attribute all praise to some mythical creature? Madness!

As is the birthday fairy, another fictitious character invented by my sister, who takes full credit for anything she buys her children for their birthdays, and one that I foolishly adopted for my own children.  On more than one occasion the birthday boy or girl has ripped open their birthday present- kindly left over-night from the birthday fairy-  turned to me and quietly asked ‘and what did you get me for my birthday mum?’

Mind you, they are becoming suspicious of Santa Claus as they get older, so when eight year old boy quizzed me the other day, I must admit I struggled to come up with an answer –

-‘Mum, do the Muslim kids get presents from Santa?’

-‘Err, no, they don’t, they get their presents at Eid’

-‘And Jews don’t celebrate Christmas, do they?’

-‘Err, no, they don’t, they have Hannukah’

-‘So who has Christmas then?’

-‘Well, Christians do....’ (I could see where this was going)

-‘Are we Christians mum?’

-‘Well, no, we’re not anything’

-‘So why does Santa come to us?’

-‘Umm, well, it’s a good thing you asked (thinking rapidly) .... he comes to us because my parents were Christians so we’re still on his list’ (phew!)

Thankfully he accepted my explanation and wandered off.

And now I must finish....there are gifts to wrap, wine to mull, pies to mince and party dresses to try on.... don't you just love it!