Desert Notes: The Sound of Abu Dhabi

All cities have soundtracks. The noises that show they are alive and awake. Abu Dhabi does too.

Sitting here, writing this article, I can hear the far off hum of traffic. If I lived in the city centre, this wouldn’t be a hum it would be a constant beat of cars and people. The traffic noise is interspersed with hooters and brakes.

You seldom hear the sirens of emergency vehicles, even though we are close to a fire station and a large police complex. They tend to run swiftly, with lights flashing, and very seldom the wail of sirens. They are around, but much quieter than their South African counterparts.

Where I live, my morning sounds are very different from my night sounds. In the morning I hear the jangling of the bell as the gas track slowly drives down the street, reminding people that they can get their gas canisters exchanged. Or the bright ding-dong of the doorbell as the Oasis water delivery man brings my 5 gallon water bottle for the cooler.
Early morning also brings the burble of birds in the gangway, which I can hear through the hum of the extractor fan in the bathroom. In the summer, the bird sounds disappear, because it is too hot.

On weekends, the streets stay quiet, with the sound of children laughing and riding bicycles in the street.

There are the ever present hens and the strutting roosters, crowing not at dawn, but whenever they feel like it. I have no idea who these chicken families belong to, but they walk the street as though it belongs to them.

During the week, my morning sounds are filled with the noise of cars and people. Our street ends up taking the overflow parking from the nearby Passport and Immigration department. There is the rush and bustle of cars, the hooting of impatient drivers and anxious parkers. Occasionally there is the crushing sound of bumper on bumper, or bumper on the “No Parking” sign, which is roundly ignored.

There is the constant chatter from the streets around, as people bustle with the paperwork need for a trip to Immigration. Cellphones ring, and the chatter is that of Babel, a thousand voices, languages, inflections. Occasionally you hear a chuckle of laughter or the hearty greeting of friends.

In the afternoon, the streets quiet, and the cars go away, leaving it free for the children to explore.

In the evening, the streets change again. Some children are still about, but its quieter. Except, like now, for the distant hum of the traffic. As I lie in bed, I will hear the sounds of the neighbourhood street cats, alternately fighting or wailing in passion. At 2am, I will hear the thump and rattle, clatter and bang of the refuse truck, coming to empty those hated dumpsters.

Then it is quiet again, until the sunrises.
For with the sun, comes the most recognisable of this city’s sounds. The call to prayer and the singing of the muezzin.

There is literally a mosque on every street corner, and where I live, there are at least five within a 2-5 minute walking distance. We have the small mosque with the cream and brown walls. There is the little mosque with its green roof. There is the mosque at the Arabic school. There is the beautiful big mosque right next to the Christian churches. There is a tiny mosque behind the far row of villas, with a little bench outside.
And those are the ones I have seen so far. There are bound to be others, of all shapes and sizes. You are never far from a mosque, so answering the call to prayer is never a burden for those wishing to pray.

The first call comes at dawn, with the rising of the sun. The first voice goes, quickly followed by the calls from the other mosques, over their loudspeakers. It is discordant at first, but becomes an unusual harmony that has come to mark the passing of time.

When I first moved here, the calls were odd, strange, a reminder that this was not my home, that I was somewhere else.

Now, as I have become used to them, it reminds me of where I am and what needs to be done.

There are six prayers held daily. The prayers are made according to the position of the sun or moon, your location and vary daily. Today (Friday, 18 February), the first prayer (known as Fajr) was at 5:34 am. I hear it as I wake, knowing that soon my alarm will go off, and I will need to get up. The next prayer (known as Shuruq) was at 6:54am, and during the week, this reminds me that it is nearly time to get my older daughter to school. The lunchtime prayer (known as Dhuhr) will be at 12:36pm. When the Asr prayer is called at 4pm, I know its time to think about cooking supper. And the Maghrib prayer (tonight at 6:19pm) tells me that its definitely supper time and that the sun is setting. The last prayer of the day (Ishaa) tells me its getting late (its 7:49pm), and that night is here.

While these sounds may remind me of my daily routine, it has recently become significant in another way.

It tells me that people are praying. Which in this chaotic world of ours, is a good thing. People are praying to be better people, for a better world. It’s a thing of peace.

I am sure that it was similar in the old days when church bells were rung to mark the Catholic prayer times. I don’t think many churches do this anymore. You’d probably hear it in Ireland, and probably in Rome. But very few places would ring out the bells to mark the Angelus (a catholic prayer). And its sad.

To me, the ritual of the regular prayers has become a symbol of hope. I may not believe the same as what they do, but I appreciate their efforts. They are trying, in their own way, to be more of themselves.

Surely we should be doing that too?

Desert Notes: Ramadam Kareem!

Ramadan Kareem!

15 October 2004 marked the start of Ramadan – a month of special significance to those of the Islamic faith. Living in an Islamic country gave me the opportunity to experience it first hand.

I have been looking forward to experiencing Ramadan ever since I arrived in the UAE. Mostly because I had heard so many different things about it: “Everything shuts down” “There is nothing to do.” “You’ve got to be extra conservative.” “There are wild parties at night.” “You’ve got to stay indoors.”

Some of this proved to be true. And some not so true.

Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, and is of special significance for Moslems because they believe this was the month when the angel Gabriel gave the Prophet Mohammed the Qu’ran.

During this month, Moslems are expected to fast from sunrise to sunset, and to abstain from smoking, sex and anything considered “haraam” (impure). It is a time of repentance, prayer, and spirituality. The Qu’ran is read through at least once, and additional prayers are said at night. There is also an increased focus on family, hospitality and charity.

Before sunrise, a light meal is eaten prior to beginning the fast. The fast is broken when the sun sets with a meal known as “Iftar.”

The Ramadan fast is broken with Eid al-Fitr (literally “the festival of the breaking of the fast”) when people dress in their best clothes, share gifts, and decorate their homes with lights.

All Moslems, except for children, pregnant or breastfeeding mothers, women who are menstruating, the elderly and the ill, have to partake in the fast. Those who are forced to miss the fast due to the reasons listed are expected to make up the missed days – either by fasting at a later date, or by providing food to a poor person.

In an Islamic country, Ramadan has a big impact on daily life, but it has not been nearly as bad as I had been led to believe. I was under the impression that all the shops would be shut, but fortunately I was wrong!

The restaurants, take-away places, cafes and small grocery shops are closed until 5pm, but most other retail outlets are open. Shopping hours do change though, and instead of being open until 10 or 11pm, the shops close between 1 and 2am.

During the day things are much quieter. Most government institutions open an hour later than normal, and most businesses close at 2pm.

People will often spend this time at rest, with family or in prayer.

There are collection points at mosques, shopping centres and schools where Moslems can drop off their charitable donations. Feeding stations for the poor are also set up.

The fast is traditionally broken with dates, which are of special significance in the Moslem world as this is what Mohammed ate, and it is mentioned in the Qu’ran. Did you know that Allah instructed Mary to eat dates while she was pregnant with Jesus?

Just before the sunset prayers, you see everyone walking towards a mosque, often carrying containers of dates and plates of food, and these are shared communally at Iftar after prayers have been completed.

Hotels and restaurants offer Iftar buffet meals, and offer traditional food, music by oud players and things like backgammon and chess tournaments. I have not yet been able to go to one of these Iftar tents, but I plan to! I can’t wait to taste the delicacies on offer.

I had heard stories about wild parties along the Corniche (Abu Dhabi waterfront) and my family and I decided to experience it for ourselves last night.

Our walk proved to be a far cry from what we had heard. There were definitely more people than usual, but no wild parties. Just eating and a relaxed atmosphere. Kids were playing like kids should. On roller skates, on bikes, even a game of cricket was going on. Nothing noisy, just like a casual family picnic. Except it was at night!

I had also been warned that I should dress more conservatively and ensure that I did not eat, drink, smoke or chew gum in public. I was happy to comply, but was a bit concerned at how conservative I should dress. So I went out and bought a shawl, and wrapped it around my shoulders on the first day of Ramadan. It proved unnecessary. As long as you aren’t wearing a mini skirt, shorts, strappy or midriff tops, it is quite fine. I’ve pretty much worn my normal clothing except for the strappy sundresses.

While commercialism of Ramadan has happened to a degree, it is no where nearly commercialised as Christmas and Easter are in the Western world. You can get Ramadan greeting cards, shops are festooned with the words “Ramadan Kareem” (Ramadan is generous) and there are lots of “special offers” mostly focused on the breaking of the fast and the idea of hospitality. This could range from a special offer on pots and pans at the supermarket, to the KFC’s 20 dirham eat-as-much-as-you like Iftar special, or the Dubai branch of Nando’s offering to donate 10% of the value of your meal to the charity of your choice!

Ramadan has been an interesting learning experience so far, and has given me plenty to think about. What do you think?

Desert Notes: The Veil

With the United Arab Emirates being an Islamic country, I expected to see women dressed from head to foot in black outfits. And, as a modern woman, I expected it to be a very negative thing, undermining women’s rights and their individuality. What I discovered was completely different.

The traditional women’s outfits in the UAE are made up of two primary items. A long black coat worn over clothing, called an abaya, and a head covering, known as a sheyla.

Underneath the abaya women traditionally wear a jabalaya (also known as a kandoura). The jabalaya is often brightly coloured floral or patterned material cut in a kaftan-like style, with decorative embroidery around the neck and cuffs. Many women wear Western-style outfits underneath – but never short skirts or pants, and seldom short sleeves.

The sheyla can be a simple headscarf covering the head. It is also occasionally worn with a veil, leaving just the eyes visible. Some women, though it is rare, will also wear black gloves and black stockings.

There is also the chador, which is the type of covering preferred in places like Iraq, as it is all-enveloping and completely disguises the woman’s shape. In the UAE, the chador is more often worn by older woman, and occasionally worn with a burqua. The burqua is a stiff gold-coloured leather mask. There is a thin strip across the forehead, connected to a strip down the nose. Another piece forms a horizontal strip just below the nose. It looks like it is made of metal. And despite the fact that the burqua covers far less of the face than the veil, it is the only item of clothing that makes me uncomfortable to see.

The abaya and sheyla on the other hand have opened up a whole new world of femininity to me. And this surprised me totally. Every abaya is unique. It is made up of a soft, lightweight black fabric, and if you look closely, the hemline and cuffs are covered with the most delicate of embroidery, beading and other decorative effects.

Often the sheyla is decorated to match. The variations on how the sheyla is wrapped around the head and neck are astounding. There seem to be half a dozen different ways of doing it, from a simple flip over to folding and wrapping.

The delicacy and the variations are absolutely amazing, and give each woman her own unique style. And the way the lightweight fabric moves around the women as they walk is far more feminine that you could imagine. And the hint of the bright colours underneath the abaya as they move is also very evocative.

I have also developed a far greater appreciation for the role perfume can play in defining femininity. I’ve never had much of a nose for scents, and could never really tell if someone was wearing any particular fragrance or not. But over here, the scents seem stronger, richer, earthier, and more sensual and I think it is amazing. There are plenty of traditional perfumeries as well as plenty of Western perfumes. It has made me understand a line from Shakespeare’s Macbeth far better: Lady Macbeth says “All the perfumes of Arabia could not sweeten this little hand.”

The sheyla and the veil also have a way of highlighting a woman’s eyes, and the application of kohl (black eyeliner) only emphasises how much of a role they play in the overall picture.

I have never been a shoe-person. But because often all you see of the designer outfit beneath the abaya is the shoes peeking out from the black, it has given me a new appreciation of their appeal!

Another element that adds to the whole feeling of complete femininity, despite being covered from head to foot in black, are the intricate henna patterns painted on to hands and feet. Henna painting is mostly reserved for special occasions, though in the more rural areas most women will have some kind of decoration on their hands or feet. It is mostly done by hand, though stencils are also often used. It takes a long time to do, and lasts for between 4-6 weeks. I’d love to try this out.

I still haven’t learnt the significance of who wears what style of outfit, but I have learnt that there is no way that the clothing makes the women anonymous. It is highly individual, chic and very extremely feminine!