5 AM Arab Alarm Clock

Alhamdulilah, and Eid mubarak to the mosque across the street, which woke me up at 5 AM this morning. And congratulations on the new sound system. I look forward to waking up to the beautiful sound of "ahhhhh alaalaaa ahhh bu uhhh alaaaa buhhhh ahhhh alaaaa" at 5 AM every Friday from this point forward. Please, make every day sacred, so I never have to live a moment without the sweet notes of "Laa ka maa ahhh ka ma ahhh buh uhhh". Get even bigger speakers so I can hear that angelic voice when I'm at work, singing "Khaa fla baaa ala ala kha fla mbahk a rakh fla kha", for a solid two hours.

It's something foreign for an American - not foreign in the sense that everything here is foreign, but foreign on a conceptual level - that worship is broadcast for all to hear. Maybe a service shows up on television in America, but you can choose to change the channel. You can sleep through it. Here, you're subjected to it. I love the idea that God is around in this country. And I love the idea that the people are so dedicated. I just wish it were a more private affair.

NAVIGATING THE IMMIGRATION PROCESS

Extended pause between posts - the past two months have been so absurd it might take me awhile to detail/review the following: a) local drivers b) high-context culture c) phone call to the embassy/embassy's phone call to employer [Flev finds out that threatening people gets results], d) driving the Mirth Mobile from Wayne's World for a month, e) the failure of reason and logic in accomplishing anything here, blah blah blah - short story long, it's been hectic.

One thing that's bothered my wife and I is the complete lack of information on the internet for the major things: residency (sponsoring wife/child), banking, internet. Sure, we eventually figured these things out - but each little accomplishment ate up about a day. So, for any new expats in Al Ain who might stumble upon this, we will share any information we have. Mind you, you now live in a place with no street addresses, and directions are explained in terms of what roundabout or mall you are near. What follows is the procedure for sponsorship - the most important thing.

Step One - Go the Ministry of Interior, across the street from Al Jimi Mall. Items you will need to bring with you:

1) A color copy of the details page of your passport and UAE residency page.

2)A color copy of the details page of each person you are sponsoring.

3) A salary letter from your employer stating that you can support your family.

4) A letter of sponsorship from your employer, stating that they are sponsoring you.

5) Your marriage certificate, and, if applicable, child's birth certificate, translated into Arabic [there are very few LEGAL translation businesses; all are located on a hidden side street behind the McDonald's on Khalifa Street...turn into the McD's parking lot, go right until you hit a small intersection...bear left and park your car when you start seeing signs for various typing services...there will be a mosque on your left...the translation office is called "Al Quds Legal Translation Office", and is located in the building next to "Trio Typing"...it is marked by a yellow sign. Seventy-five dirhams per document]. Your marriage certificate and child's birth certificate must be attested in the UAE, even if you went through the authentication process at the UAE embassy in the US, Canada, Britain - wherever. You can do this at Al Faraj, which is on the same street as the translation offices [One-hundred-and-thirty dirhams per document].

6) A color copy of your spouse and dependent's health cards.

7) Two color passport-size photos for each person you are sponsoring

STEP TWO -

OK, we're back at the Ministry building.

Obtain a sponsor list from the sponsor list office outside of the Ministry of Interior. Rest assured, I have no idea what this document actually is, but you will pay two dirhams for it. Also, don't worry about finding your way around the Ministry; I assure you, every employee there speaks absolutely zero English.

STEP THREE -

Bring all of your documents to the "Typing Office", which is next to the "Sponsor List Office". There, a lady who speaks no English and types with one finger will shout at you in Arabic to go make photocopies of all of your documents (best to bring extra copies of EVERYTHING to avoid this extra step). She will then charge you two-hundred-and-sixty dirhams per document for stapling a bunch of photocopies together and stamping them. Say "shukran", and run like hell from that cluster----.

STEP FOUR -

Go to the main building of the MOI. You will recognize it by all of the English speakers (84% of the country) trying to communicate with the non-English speakers (100% of the employees). Take a number for the Visa Department. If your spouse is accompanying you, men and women must sit separately.

STEP FIVE -

Once called up, hand your documents over. Someone will shuffle through them, staple a bunch of additional shit to them, hand you a receipt, and point in some nebulous direction, guiding you to your next destination (the "Visa Extension" booth).

STEP SIX -

Hand over your receipt at the Visa Extension booth. Within a few hours (maybe sooner if you chose the "urgent" option at the typing office), you will have the elusive "pink paper" for each person you are sponsoring.

STEP SEVEN -

Go to Oman through the Mezyad crossing. When reentering the UAE, show the police officers the pink papers and get the 60 day visitor stamp for each person you are sponsoring.

STEP EIGHT -

Go to the nearest SEHA office and get a blood test for every person you are sponsoring over the age of eighteen (two-hundred-fifty dirhams for fast-track).

STEP NINE -

Take all your documents (every single piece of paper you've accumulated throughout this process) back to the MOI, hand over the passports of the people you are sponsoring, pay several hundred dirhams.

STEP TEN -

You will get a text when the residencies are completed.

Simple.

Review: Afghan Cab Drivers

I am not a racist. With that clarified, let me make some broad generalizations about an entire group of people based on a total of three personal experiences.

I will not get into a cab driven by a Pasthun. It's not as if I have some longstanding, ingrained prejudice against Afghanistan's largest ethnic group (I've never met one before). It's because a) they don't speak English OR Arabic, b) they don't know where they're going and c) decades of war have left the cabdrivers with a sort of fatalist world view; if their reckless driving kills their passengers, God willed it.

Afghan Cab Driver Experience One: After completing the health check in Abu Dhabi, about fifteen of us cram into a minivan (one member of our group later concluded that this was not, in fact, a taxi, but just some guy who owned a bus). It was 118 degrees outside, but somehow hotter in the "cab". I'm sitting in the front, next to an Indian expat who had gotten in the "Taxi" before us, is late to work, and is banging on the seat, screaming first in English, then in Arabic, and finally in Urdu, none of which the driver understands (I grasp this because he is looking back at the American/Canadian contingent like he's waiting for us to interpret - taking his eyes off the road for a prolonged period). After about an hour of the guy driving us to the wrong hotel, through the wrong side of the city, and past the screaming Indian's workplace several times, M in the front seat spots our hotel. It looks reasonably close. We ask to be let out. The driver blocks traffic as he tries to communicate his phone number to us, in case we ever need his competent services again. We then walk the mile or so back to our accommodations.

Afghan Cab Driver Experience Two: The best of the worst. My only issues with this guy were a) I have lived here two weeks, have a terrible sense of direction, and I had to tell him where to go, and b) Driveways and parking lots confused him, as he stopped several times in the middle of the one lane road and asked if he should keep going to the front of the hotel. He even stopped to ask a white guy walking out of the hotel how to get to the entrance the guy had just walked out of.

Afghan Cab Driver Experience Three: The straw that broke the camel's back (Ha! Camel pun). So we are trying to walk to one of the oases, which looks like a reasonable distance from the hotel. It's only about 100 degrees that morning, and in our already warped perspectives, that seems like reasonable weather in which to take a two-year old for an extended walk (during Ramadan, when we cannot consume any water in public). We also think that our crappy hotel map is a reasonable tool for finding this place we've never been. Of course, none of this is reasonable, and after about twenty minutes, we're looking for a cab to take us to the big oasis on the other side of town.

First warning sign is that the meter is "broken". I'm accustomed to the gypsy cab system in certain parts of New York, and didn't think much of it. We ask to go to Al Ain Oasis - the big oasis, the one on which the entire city was founded, and after which it was named. Ten minutes of high-speed, nearly-causing-several-accidents driving later, Afghanica Patrick pulls up in front of Al Noor Hospital. We inform him that this isn't correct, in fact, a hospital might be the semantic opposite of an oasis (the whole dying-in-a-bed versus life-springing-from-the-desert dichotomy). He kinda smiles and rolls down the window. A.P. calls over the two guys who are standing out front - either Pakistani or Bangladeshi - and coughs up something that resembles a language in their direction. One of the South Asians asks him, "Hal tetekelam al logat al arabeea?" - Do you speak Arabic? - the driver just sort of smiles at them. I ask them for directions in English, and they're not too sure either. We decide to go back to the hotel.

Flev (to driver): "Just take us to the Rotana"

Driver: (smile)

Flev: "Hotel Rotana"

Driver: (smile)

The driver takes us in the general direction of the Rotana Hotel. We enter the Jahli roundabout, directly in front of the hotel, and the driver eventually figures out which road to exit on. He manages to miss the turn into the pretty damned obvious driveway. Instead of turning around at the next roundabout, or, better yet, the next driveway, he decides the best option is to back up into fast moving traffic. For nearly killing us, and failing to take us to our destination, the driver asks for fifteen dirhams. We pay it, one, just to end the experience, and two, 'cause we're just that wealthy.

Another couple starts to get into the cab as it's pulling out. "S" and I warn them "Don't get in that cab", and recount our experience. They ignore us. This may be due to the lack of any effort on my part to socialize/make friends, but I haven't seen them since.

The result of this is a sort of reverse racism. The Pashtuns are whitish. The Pakistanis, Bengladeshis, and Indians are brownish. Therefore, the darker someone is, the more likely I am to get into their taxi. Dr. King, your dream is realized in the cabs of the United Arab Emirates.

Buying Liquor/Beer/Wine in an Islamic country during Ramadan.

Let me state that I have not yet done this. I do, however, have a source whose gossip has proven to be reliable. And while I enjoy the sort of forced sobriety that the UAE offers, it would be nice to know where to get some alcohol every once in awhile. Internet searches have proven useless in trying to locate a bottle shop.

In Al Ain:

Store Name Unknown. This place exists. I know this because it has been confirmed by several people who I barely know, and I have a crudely drawn map. Ask the taxi driver to go to the Hilton - he will not know about the package store. Go past the security office, and there will be a lit storefront without a sign. That's your liquor shack. Ramadan hours are 10 PM to 5 AM.

Spinney's. Supposedly next to the vegetable souk. It DOES exist, contrary to what the first few internet hits will tell you. Again, I know this because people I met two weeks ago have told me it's true. (I'm gonna get me some of that inexpensive produce for use in our gourmet hot plate cooking anyway - at that point, I'll post a map).

Rumor Mill: Employer-Provided Housing.

I'm living in a hotel. A nice hotel, but a hotel (with my wife and child). My employer - who before I start bitching, has been incredibly generous - is supposed to provide me and fellow expats with apartments. Since information is not forthcoming, we rely on an elaborate system of rumors. I've combined everything I've heard, from multiple sources, into one cohesive statement that should resemble the truth:

We will be living in giant, tiny apartments that smell like sewage and rose petals. The marble/dirt and straw floors nicely accent the kitchen, which is big enough for a full stove or small campfire. The drawback is that our accommodations may not be ready until February of last year.

Review: "Five-Star" Hotels.

I've been in the Emirate of Abu Dhabi about two weeks, and am currently living in my second so-called "Five-Star" hotel. I offer the following reviews:

Le Royal Meridien, Abu Dhabi:

At first, I was impressed by the design of the building and the staff whose mission it seemed was to please me. Then I dropped 350 dirhams (about $100 American) on the floor in the lobby. It took the staff a full twenty minutes to find and return it to me. Furthermore, after we finished our complimentary chocolate-covered strawberries and meringue, housekeeping neglected to remove our fancy dessert plates. I had to stare at dirty dishware until the next morning, when they delivered my newspaper and slippers. The fresh fruit guy who came in the afternoon forgot to thank me for the honor of allowing him to deliver me fresh fruit, and, as it turns out, our window was not overlooking the Persian Gulf, but "The Arabian Gulf". To top it all off, at the end of our four day stay, the place was a complete and utter mess. Four Stars.

Hotel Rotana, Al Ain:

Beautiful city, beautiful hotel, but only four stories tall. It's as if the builders were afraid of some "edict" issued by some "national paradigm" stating that no building could be taller than the big mosque. Grow some balls.

While the staff has delivered extra coffee, milk, tea, and non-dairy creamer every day and organized the sink area, they have not once actually made my coffee. They clean the room thoroughly, but they simply fold all our dirty clothes and place them into neat piles instead of doing our laundry.

Three Stars.