Back in Dubai

Sitting at the bar at the stern of the "Floatel," I drank my first beer in Dubai. It was an old passenger ship, at the time a hotel, but previously a brothel. I was told a story about the boat, much later in my sojurn there while waiting to appear in court, I stood before a photograph of the ruler with the company's Government Relations man, a Yemeni, who reminisced about his uncle who had been the Chief of Police...

Before the oil came on stream and Dubai ran on trade, gold, and slavery, Sheikh Maktoum had run out of money with which to pay his police, and had asked his Chief of Police what to do. He suggested Maktoum raid the Floatel, arrest and fine the prostitutes and, by that means, create the payroll.

Things have changed since those days, the Floatel has been towed away and Dubai, with its super towers and nasty, man-made islands, has made Dubai a rather humid hybrid of Bombay and Hong Kong.

If you were to turn left at the entrance of the Gold Suq and down a flight of steps, you'd find yourself at the Abra station, the water taxis that will carried passengers, six or eight a time, across the creek. I used to make the trip at least twice a week because the India House was on the other side. It became a bit of a legend with discriminating expatriates. Indian vegetarian. Delicious thalis, cashew-nut spring rolls, raita, hot daal soup, puri, and gulabjam. Sheer bliss, and so much so that one expat really upset his wife when, after a fortnight's trip in the States, went straight to the India House from the airport!

I mentioned earlier having been to court. It was a traffic accident that had resulted in injury, to a child. I had been to the supermarket along the Jumeirah coast road, close to the American school my children attended. As I drove along the back road, I noticed two Arab kids walking along with their backs to me when, without warning, one of them dashed across. Although my speed was ok, I wrestled with the wheel as I tried to avoid him the tires slipping on the sand. I almost made it, when I felt a clunk as the back of the car struck him.

I got out and hurried back where the little boy lay on the ground. His left tibia was fractured and he was in pain. I spoke to him and assured him we would get him to hospital, lifted him into the car and started to drive back to his house to get an adult to come along with us. It was then the women arrived carrying sticks and proceded to beat me. I was at the limit of my acceptance of all this when some men arrived and calmed things down. His uncle came with us. I delivered the boy to the hospital, was arrested, and spent the next two days in jail.

The boy's father worked for the same company as myself and talked with me about the incident. Evidently, his boy was impressed I had spoken to him in Arabic and had admitted he ran across the road without looking. I breathed a sigh of relief. An honest kid and not too badly hurt. In the event, my advisor who came with me to court, and told me the Muktoum story also told me to keep it simple and agree with whatever the judge meted out. I was fined $250 for driving without due care and attention.

My experience was a little better than the justice meted out to some. My boss ran a multi-currency payroll system and had witnessed rough justice when programming in Ahwaz in Iran. Some tribesmen had been shipped in to work on the Shah's defense works against the potential threat from Iraq. They had been told not to trust the townspeople and definitely not the foreigners. In the event, there had been a glitch in the computer programs and the payroll was delayed... The tribal boys went on the rampage, looking for the cause and, finding the payroll manager, took him out and hanged him from a tree.

Our weekends in Dubai were spent as a family, adventuring. We drive through the Hajar mountains to the Batinah coast and to the north at the border of the Omani exclave of Musudanam and the Emirates. We picked up a hitchhiker carrying his Martini Henry rifle on the way north and, dropping him off at Dibba, drove through the canyons to Ras al Kaimah. We met, and ate with Bedouin. Even once picked up an old man who was going to the hospital to get his cataracts removed...it was quite funny really...he couldn't see too clearly and must have thought I was a taxi as, when he got out, he pressed a silver dirham into my hand, thanked me, and said my Arabic was terrible!

We lived in Dubai during the Iranian rebellion against the Shah, attended Beating the Retreat when the Queen visited, drove out to Buraimi where the Trucial Scouts fought off a Saudi force when the border was in dispute. So much like Al Hasa in Saudi Arabia, with date palms and irrigated fields and beyond, at the border of the oasis, I walked up and into the pink dunes of the Rhub Al Khali stretching out to the horizon.

My wife worked at an archeological dig, finding steatite pots and bronze arrow heads from a Magan-era settlement. The Chief Archeologist was an Iraqi from the Baghdad Museum in the tradition of Gertrude Bell.

The rave music of the time was Bony M. We were friends with the teachers at the American school and took vacations with them. Fun and full of adventure. Our gardener was Afghani and took long vacations to hunt Russians. We made friends with local families and our children made friendships with American children that have endured. Happy days.