Dubai: Walk into a café in the UAE and eavesdrop for a moment. You’ll hear it: conversations that start in Arabic, slip into English halfway through, and sprinkle in a few slang words or “LOL”s before circling back to “yalla, let’s go.”
For young Emiratis, this isn’t a mistake. it’s their rhythm. A new kind of bilingual (and sometimes trilingual) dance that reflects both the pull of globalisation and the push of tradition.
“I usually speak a mixture of Arabic and English in conversations,” says Sama Alzarooni, 19, from Sharjah. “Some ideas are easier to express in English, others in Arabic, so switching feels automatic. It’s our normal.”
For Omar Almur, 22, from Dubai, the pattern is similar, even if the emphasis leans more toward English: “Funny enough, I switch between Arabic and English more often than I’d like to admit. Some words just come faster in Arabic, like La, Haih or Mashallah, they’re almost impossible to replace.”
Linguists call this phenomenon code-switching.
In the UAE, it has a twist: “Arabeezy,” where Arabic is typed using English letters and numbers online.
Omar says he mostly sticks to English with friends but admits that Arabeezy has “taken the Arab youth by storm, especially in the last couple of tech-driven years.”
And he’s not alone. Linguists and researcher have been tracking this trend for years.
Eman Saleh Akeel observed that, in conversations between Emiratis, speakers often switch between Arabic and English to elaborate on ideas, capture the listener’s attention, or highlight their knowledge of specific topics, as noted in her 2016 study Investigating Code Switching between Arabic/English Bilingual Speakers.
Similarly, Noor Al Kaddour and Rana Kaddoura found that Emiratis of all ages do code-switch and code-mix, with younger people and informal settings showing more mixing. “Age and gender influence how much switching happens, but it’s part of daily communication,” their 2019 paper concluded, “The Use of Code-Switching and Code-Mixing by Speakers of Emirati Arabic.”
Teachers, too, recognize its value. Dr. Wafa’ Hazaymeh from Al Ain University noted that code-switching in classrooms often has a positive impact: “It provides a clear purpose and helps instruction by creating a sociable environment.”
But does this linguistic juggling dilute cultural identity?
Both Sama and Omar admit it’s complicated. Sama reflects: “Using English more often might make us feel slightly distant from our cultural roots. But it’s about balance. Arabic connects us to our culture and religion. English prepares us for the world.”
Omar agrees but draws a line in the sand: “English is a tool for success. But Arabic is how I speak with my grandmother, how I pray, and how I connect to tradition. Without Arabic, my identity would feel incomplete.”
The dominance of English in education is undeniable. “At university, English is more dominant, especially in classes,” Sama admits. “But when we chat with friends, it’s usually Arabic or a mix of both.”
Omar’s experience is the same at his private American university in Dubai: “It’s impossible to get by without English. But Emiratis tend to band together, and when we do, Arabic comes back naturally.”
Experts see this resilience. A study published in Frontiers in Sociology notes: “Speaking Arabic helps Emirati youth strengthen relationships with their ancestral heritage. The Arabic language improves the sense of respect and belonging.”
And according to Altalqani et al., youth switch languages not randomly but deliberately. to express identity, show belonging, or because some thoughts simply “fit” better in one language.
Both Sama and Omar see Arabic holding steady, even as English rises. “Arabic will always remain important because it’s part of our culture, religion, and daily life,” says Sama. “The future is bilingual.”
Omar echoes the sentiment: “Arabic is slowly shifting but still central. English may dominate business and social media, but Arabic will always be the anchor of our identity.”
As the UAE pushes initiatives like the National Arabic Language Strategy, aimed at strengthening Arabic in education and digital spaces, the youth themselves seem to already be living the balance.
Back at that café, you might overhear someone say: “Bro, yalla let’s order karak.” It’s not confusion. It’s not loss. It’s a new cultural fluency, an Emirati remix of heritage and modernity.
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