Category Archives: Dubai

Crime file: Knobbery at Motor City!

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One of the great things about Dubai is it’s a really safe place to live. The crime rate is very low, I’ve never felt threatened and parents definitely have their children on a much looser rein than they would in the US, or Europe.

Touch wood, we’ve never had anything stolen, been burgled or mugged (except by the rip-off prices in the stores). What crime there is tends to be petty, like a housemaid stealing her Madam’s diamond earrings, or Cartier watch.

“Phew, it’s hot under here – and I’ll have balaclava hair when I’m done!”

So imagine our surprise when we learnt there’d been an armed robbery just down the road! I was even there – and didn’t notice a thing!

It took place at the money exchange in Motor City, just before my car broke down in the car park. Two men wearing balaclavas (boy, they must have been sweating) and brandishing a pistol burst in and screamed at the petrified employees to stand aside.

In less than 30 seconds, they stole Dhs 1.6 million in cash, before speeding off with their loot in the direction of Abu Dhabi.

Sounds pretty slick, no? But robbers in Dubai, they’re just not professional – even ones who attempt an audacious daylight raid like this pair. They might even be described as a little vain – a slither too eager to boast about their spoils.

Otherwise how do you explain the fact that within about two hours of the heist a suspect had been arrested in a Dubai hotel room – with a celebratory photo on his camera, in which he’s smiling from ear-to-ear and waving wads of notes?

You can see the photo of the alleged thief with the stolen currencies here (I daren’t post it on the blog as I’m sure I learnt in media law that that jeopardises the case).

Talk about having the smug smile wiped off his face!

When the cat’s away…

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It’s become a bit of a pattern in our household that whenever DH goes away on a trip (packs bag, disappears to the other side of the world), my corner of the planet starts throwing curveballs.

Thankfully, it’s usually only minor things, like being offered work on a day the children really need me, a poorly child, tantrums, a scrap between the boys that ends in injury. Or a household appliance breaking down.

Today, the car wouldn’t start after a playdate – at Motor City, of all places (maybe the car thought the autodrome looked more fun, or maybe I’ve watched Cars with the boys too many times). Again, though, this could have been so much worse, as anyone who’s broken down on the highway in 40 degrees heat, with children who need the toilet, will attest to.

Whilst I only got as far as Motor City today, DH gallivants the world

The sweet thing is, when DH is away, especially far away, like in Sydney last week or Seoul this week, he really worries about us.

“We’ll be fine,” I always say. “Don’t worry about us! What could go wrong?” I lie! [temping fate, I know!]

“I’m perfectly capable of looking after the children – and the cars,” I claim in mock indignation.

So, tonight when he skyped from South Korea after receiving my text about the broken-down car, I had some explaining to do.

“Erm, yes, the car. I just left it there. And the boys. Yes, both fine. But I have to work tomorrow, and so a complete stranger is picking LB up from school.”

Not a complete stranger, of course – she’s another (very nice) mum with a child in the same class who I talked to for the first time today after a moment of mummy desperation, in which I realised I couldn’t let LB (and our nanny) come hurtling home at 130kph in a taxi.

Now, I just have to keep everything crossed that LB actually agrees to go with her, walks to her car and climbs in it – because, as we all know, shepherding three-year-old children is rather like herding cats.

Silent Sunday: Fifty Shades Darker

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Following on from my Fifty Shades of Yellow post the other week, here’s the sequel! This is what the sky looks like when a shamal (sandstorm) is being whipped up. Pretty amazing, no? And the best way to ensure a sandstorm appears out of nowhere? Have the car washed. Or leave a window open and go out.

Once again, I have my friend Elin Boyd to thank for the photography

Three-word Thursday

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Sporadic work on a news magazine is always a nice change. It’s probably about the only time I stop worrying about what the children are (or aren’t) eating, what they’re getting up to, or into, and instead start worrying about Iran’s nuclear capability.

There HAS been a lot of activity at the airbase right by us, lately.

This aside, landing slap bang in the middle of a news office again has rendered me speechless this evening, so today’s post is inspired by something I heard on the radio on the way to work.

A school car park calamity! Also on Catboy’s Facebook page, it would appear this BMW-driving Dubai mum needed a break from the school run too (and look at the shadows of the other mums taking photos!)

Every Thursday, Dubai 92’s Catboy & Geordiebird invite listeners to leave three words on their Facebook page saying anything they like about their day. People put things like ‘Nursery today, yay!’, ‘Oh no dentist’, ‘Homemade fluffy PANCAKES’, ‘I’m in labour’ – you get the gist.

So, to join in the fun, here are my three-word Thursdays:

Nothing to wear

Traffic’s terrible again

Dubai is back

Late for school

Dodgy drop off [forgot LB’s pet fluffy duck]

Seriously? Slow down, lady! EDITED TO ADD: Though I think a consensus has been reached: She must have put the car in drive, not reverse

I’m at work

Two-day week!

No afternoon pickup!

Pea-soup brain

Adult world shock

Gossip round kettle

NEED office wardrobe

Missed the children

Iran’s VERY close

Oh no, traffic

Weekend’s here, yay!

Pizza or Lebanese?

Will kids lie-in?

Christmas is coming!

Pet grooming with a difference

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It’s well known in Dubai that helpers try to iron all sorts of things, from baby clothes to boxer shorts. Today, I was in our local supermarket and spotted this advert on the noticeboard. I just love the way it reads, giving the impression that the houseboy will iron your pet for you! Only in Dubai …

As an American friend just pointed out to me, US readers may also enjoy the way it suggests you’re contacting the Mob if you call.

Just 10 minutes shut-eye please!

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With our day starting a little earlier than last year – and about three hours earlier than it did in the summer holidays – I’m finding that I can keep busy until about 3ish, doing school runs, getting groceries, running errands, even the gym. But then, like clockwork, at 3pm, my body (and mind) say: “That’s it! Nap!”

Of course, this isn’t compatible with two small boys, who thought naps were overrated even when they were babies. So I plough on, hoping for a second wind (which usually comes after the children are in bed).

Today, though, I tried to sneak a nap in. I honestly thought that in the precious quiet time in between LB coming home from school and BB’s return (after which he loves nothing more than to populate our house with his friends), I might be able to take a power nap. On the sofa. While LB played with his cars. Just for 10 minutes.

As if!

“Mummy, you’re the runway,” giggled LB, landing his fighter jet on my face. “Jugga-jugga-jugga. Dthug, dthug!” [Thanks DH for the Pearl Harbour suggestion just before heading out the door.]

This was followed by: “Mum, WHY are you sleeping? It’s N.O.T. nighttime!” Said with the indignation of a put-out 3YO worried it might actually be night.

He prized my eyelids open with his little fingers, walloped me with the airplane a second time and climbed on top of me to bring me back to life.

Then came the sentence that was sure to get me moving.

“Mummy, my pee’s coming!”

I should have known my chances of 10 minutes of shut-eye were about the same as a puffy rain cloud floating past in the bright-blue sky and dousing our desert garden with wet stuff.

What did you do at school today?

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My children hear me say this every day after school. I must ask at least four or five times, phrased in slightly different ways in an attempt to get an answer.

“Who did you see at school today?” “What did you learn?” “Did you have French…or Arabic today?” “Maybe PE?” I probe.

But quite honestly, it’s like getting blood out of a stone.

“We watched TV, Mum!” (I’ve learnt he means they used the smart board)

It must be because I have boys, but they tell me very little about what actually goes on during their school day. Sometimes BB will tell me there was a ‘bad boy’ who got put in time-out (never him, funnily), or that they watched something on the smart board.

But most of the time, he replies, “We did nuff-ing.” Or, when pressed, gives me an exasperated eye-roll and sighs, “I can’t remember.”

Often, I try again later on, hopeful that one last open-ended question might work, but by this time he’s usually head down over my iPad, downloading the video clips he likes watching using our sometimes-fast new internet connection.

Interestingly, though, the thing he has mentioned is the fact his teacher is pregnant. She must only have about four weeks to go and has told the class she’s having a boy.

“There’s a baby inside Ms. C’s tummy,” he told me yesterday, quite proud of the fact he was privvy to this news.

“That’s right,” I said. “And do you know when she’s having her baby?”

“Dunno,” he replied. “The baby’s still loading in her tummy.”

My five minutes of fame!

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This morning, on the way to school, I had the most wonderful surprise. I was just dodging a large water truck, while listening to LB chattering in the back, when I suddenly realised my blog was being read out on the radio!

“LB, be quiet – please!” I shushed. “Listen!” [not that he knows what my blog is, or was about to start listening].

“Mum! You didn’t want to actually SIT on the sofa, did you?”

But he did stay quiet long enough for me to hear my favourite Dubai 92 DJ, CatBoy, read out nearly an entire post – the one on (underhand) school run tips and tricks.

I practically danced LB into his classroom and let the double-parking nonsense that’s going on outside the gates roll off my shoulders. Heavens, I was even wearing the black gym wear that’s currently trending on the school run. Drop-off doesn’t get any better!

The tsunami of extra visits my blog received today may all be one-hit wonders, but it was really fun to witness the power of social media (the radio station re-tweeted the post on Twitter and it made it onto their Facebook page too).

Of course, now I have stage fright – and can’t think of anything to write about. So suffice to say, in a week where DH has been on the other side of the world the whole time – and the children decided it would be fun to rearrange the living room furniture – my five minutes of fame really put a smile on my face. 🙂

Expat friends stock-take

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I’ve made a new friend since getting back to Dubai. She actually popped up on my ‘friend radar’ before the summer, but busy schedules got in the way.

When I returned, our paths crossed and, one party and two playdates later, I’m pretty sure she’s a keeper – in expat terms, that is.

As we sipped on cappuccinos yesterday afternoon at the playarea, on the fringes of a group of women from Dubai Mums, we found ourselves discussing the errant, sometimes tenuous nature of expat friendships.

“In nine years, I’ve seen a lot of friends come and go,” she told me, with a look that said, “They nearly all leave in the end – the lot of them.”

I nodded. It’s what many women find here. Not nearly as much as some expat postings, where it can be so transient the children automatically assume their playmates have moved on if they’re off sick from school. But even so – despite the fact Dubai, with its non-stop sunshine, maid culture, champagne brunches and five-star resorts, is hardly a ‘hardship posting’ – there’s still a steady turnover of friends and you do have to stay on the look out for new ones.

Especially as friendships, it seems, are forged in some unexpected places when you find yourself living overseas, with children and a DH who travels. A lot.

With an influx of new families in the UAE in situ for the new school term, mums are exchanging confidences and phone numbers

Here’s how I found my inner circle (and why I love them!):

B: Lived opposite us in our first compound. Kindred spirits, we shared a fear of driving in Dubai, though really she’s an ace behind the wheel (American).

L1: Chatted while sitting next to each other at the doctor’s surgery. I was really forward and pounced on her (actually on her husband, if I’m honest, as by the time I’d plucked up courage, she’d been called in to see the doctor) and got her phone number. She moved to Dubai from Hong Kong and also has two boys, same ages (British).

K: A talented writing buddy (blogs at sandboxmoxie.com) who I knew I’d be great friends with. Just knew. Even if a year passed before we bumped into each other again (American).

M: Just happened to be sitting near each other in the park one weekend. With a high-flying, full-time job in education, she was looking for mum friends and so we swapped numbers. Now I see her most weekends (Canadian).

L2: A neighbour and another clever writing friend who also happens to be one of the funniest women on the planet, especially when drinking gin on a Friday (British).

C: Met at an ExpatWoman playgroup and bonded over Black Forest gateau in Ikea. Now lives in Abu Dhabi. Uber-stylish and owns the most fabulous shoes (British)

If you’re new in Dubai, welcome! We’re a friendly bunch, I promise!

Rant alert: A mother’s comeuppance

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Last year, our morning routine was too good to be true: BB was picked up by bus and whisked off to school in a blink, while LB went to a nursery inside our compound.

Workwise, I could do a whole day in the office as a freelance, or bits and pieces at home – the sum of which were a drop in the ocean really in terms of the household budget, but at least made me feel like I was contributing in some small way.

But kids, they tend to start growing up, don’t they? And so it’s still something of a shock to me that this year I have two boys in two different schools (the hope is that in about 3 years’ time, the waiting list fairy will smile on us and BB will join his brother).

Why such an early school start? I’ve heard that in Australia, children with a 9.15am start go surfing first

“You have to leave by 7.20am to get to LB’s school,” my good friend warned, with a knowing, slightly worried look clouding her eyes (she knows I’m not great in the mornings).

And today, I found out why. Despite this school being nearby, to get there for the 7.50am start, you need to set out at least half an hour before to avoid the argy-bargying that goes on round the roundabaout, the tussle for parking spots and the queue snaking its way from the highway.

The drop-off completed on the late side, I headed back to our compound, thinking positive thoughts about going to the gym and getting groceries – all before 8.45am.

Thwarted. A power cut meant another hot and sticky, Bikram-style workout and at the store, it was as if Halloween had come early, with an assistant taking shoppers round with a torch, shining the beam down the dark aisles like a policeman scanning a dingy alleyway for baddies.

But my biggest bugbear this morning: LB is only at school for what feels like 20 minutes. His pick-up is earlier than nursery, just about giving mums enough time to do the shopping, come home, put the kettle on and go to the loo before heading back to the school to collect a child who will need entertaining all afternoon.

How being back on the school run, with less child-free time than before, feeling like a shadowy figure at the other school (BB’s back on the bus, bless him) and foraging around the grocery store with a flashlight is progress, I’m not sure.

I’m not going to get any work done this year, am I?

Rant over. Tomorrow I’ll beat the time thief. I’ll be out the door at 7.20am. Sharp.