Taking a dive

When we first moved into our new neighbourhood, many of our family and friends could not understand why. Compared to the modern, almost Lego-like suburban development we had resided in previously, complete with 24-hour security guarded entrance and artificial lake, the new place was a dive.

Our move was symbolic in many ways of how we seem to live life by swimming against the current. Whilst most Emirati families moved into newer houses in posher areas such as Jumeriah and Al Barsha, we had chosen to move into an older house in an area that was primarily occupied by low-income earners. Taxis, minivans, school buses and pickup trucks are in no short supply where we now stay.

The new set-up took us a while to get used to. The garbage truck that picks up its daily load at approximately 10pm first did so in a rather annoying fashion. If the noise of the large bin being raised and banged empty wasn't enough then its flashing orange revolving lights splashing around our bedroom walls was. Bedtime for most of the kids on our street, who often knock on our door asking for their tennis ball back, was astonishingly well after 10pm. And for some reason or another our garage door seemed to be constantly discourteously blocked by other vehicles, despite the ‘no parking' sign. Weekends and the eve of public holidays were also a challenge, with loud music being played well into the early hours of the morning.

With time and a lot of patience, many of the mysteries of the neighbourhood began to unravel. The reason why people parked outside our garage door, as it turned out, is the same reason they parked outside every other garage door on the street. The majority of the villas on our street are home to groups of families and blue-collar workers. The need for the extra rent space and income has resulted in every garage on the street being converted into an extra bedroom. The garage doors and the ‘no parking' signs had, therefore, over time become obsolete.

With the aid of some annoying hooting very early in the morning the residents very quickly discovered that our garage was an exception to this rule.

The children playing on the streets were all the offspring of parents who worked unusual shifts. Having their children go to sleep early would take away the only quality family time they had to spend together. Although one could argue this would stunt their children's growth, surely shorter, loved children make better contributors to the world than taller, misdirected ones.

As for the weekend and public holiday parties, one can hardly hold a grudge. These folks work hard and need to party hard as well. Having said that, the sound of bottles being smashed and fights breaking out always reminds one how thin the line can get between blowing off steam and wreaking havoc.

As for the garbage truck and its revolving orange lights, the only sign we now get of its existence is in seeing the empty bins in the morning.

I will never forget the day I knew we had completely acclimatised to the new neighbourhood. It was New Year's Eve and our first born baby boy was fast asleep in his cot. Next door's bhangra party was well into its third hour and instead of having the urge to call the police, we were busy having a lot of fun doing our own version of a Bollywood dance scene. "If you can't beat them you might as well dance with them," I remember telling my wife.

We moved into a new neighbourhood that is very far from the glitzy, glamorous image many folk have of Dubai. But for us it is a far more real world, with real people living real lives. A writer could not ask to live anywhere else.

Wael Al Sayegh is an Emirati cultural consultant, poet and writer.