Saturday 17 October 2009

Third-world epiphany

This incident occurred over a month ago, but the draft waited patiently...

Something happened to me yesterday while I was leaving Marina Mall (see the main photo on this blog) with my groceries that made me realise I just may never be able to return to my home city in the states. Or my home city in England, for that matter.

There I was, Friday morning, wheeling my Carrefour cart full of groceries out to my car in the warm sun -- a cart that I paid a ONE DIRHAM deposit for, by the way -- and a skinny little fellow appears out of nowhere and starts taking my groceries from the cart. Ok, so the car boot was open at the time, and the little man's intention was clearly to put the groceries in the car boot, not hie off with them to set up his own veggie stand.

And my first reaction was to say whatdoyouthinkyou'redoing???!

That reaction achieved its goal: the little bugger did in fact hie off, sans groceries, and lurked about looking beaten and forlorn. I loaded the rest of the bags into my car, returned the cart to the rank, collected my one dirham coin (a whopping 28 cents), and drove off.

Then it hit me.

The only thing this fella wanted to do was help me with my groceries in return for me letting him return the cart and pocket the 28 cents trolley-deposit. He wasn't a thug or a panhandler, he was an entrepreneur. And I sent him away.

You see, the thing about Abu Dhabi is that everyone here works. They work for practically nothing, they work in the hot sun, they work without much in the way of thanks or recognition, but they work. Contrast this with the big-city thug who approaches you on the street with an angry "Can you spare some change?" or with the shiftless ne'er do well sitting on the pavement with cap in hand who glares at you if you dare to walk by without buying him a coffee from Starbucks. They don't offer to carry my groceries or return my trolley, but they still want something. The difference is they want something for nothing -- and their only rationale (if you can call it that) is that I clearly have more than they do.

I learned my lesson. Now when I go to the Carrefour on a Friday morning -- probably the only day of the week my underfed little friend has to himself -- I happily let him take my cart back for the handsome fee of 28 cents. Hell, I give him a few extra dirhams. After all, he's a working man.


Monday 5 October 2009

Driving I.Q.

In the past three short weeks, I think I've managed to cover almost every square inch of asphalt (and sand) on Abu Dhabi island.  And then some.

I've made it to work and back without a hitch (even if one of my recent 'shortcuts' turned out to be a diversion to Kuwait).  I've navigated the labyrinth of Mina Zayed, parked in the formidable Tourist Club Area, found my way to the Exhibition Centre at night despite carrying a self-professed expert navigator who managed to direct me towards the wrong exit twice (and I made it back), and I may be the first person to find the Khalifa City Police Station on the first try.  (The KCA Police Station is rather like the Kennedy Center -- there are signs everywhere in the city pointing towards it, until you get to within a block of the bugging place).

Like any city, Abu Dhabi has its share of traffic.  So circumnavigating the block to fill up your tank with gas will probably take a half hour.  Or more.  It's not really the time that bothers me; it's the complete and utter idiocy of the other drivers out there.

So I've invented a new term:  Driving I.Q., or "DIQ" for short (pronounced like dick).

Most of the drivers here have pretty small DIQs, which is ironic considering that the maneuvers they routinely practice likely have as their goal the opposite effect.  For instance:

Here I am, 50 metres from a red light, travelling at my snail-pace of 60 kph (the speed limit on most city roads).  And suddenly, a flash of colour passes me.  Some schmuck has increased his speed to 100 or so kph.  FIFTY metres from a red light.  Classic small DIQ maneuver.

Then there's the indicating problem.   It seems they don't actually teach people here about that little lever on the left of the steering wheel.  Result?  Nobody indicates.  This may in fact be a good thing, since the few people who do manage to push that little lever up or down promptly forget about its existence.  My recommended solution is this:  when you see an indicator light flashing, don't worry -- the driver isn't going to turn.  It's when you DON'T see one that you need to start worrying.

Finally, we have the horns.  I like to think of driving in Abu Dhabi as going to an orchestral concert -- except all the music is in the key of F.  After pondering the over-usage of the car horn for several hours, I think I've come up with a theory.  There don't seem to be many musical instruments here in the desert, so people aren't accustomed to being able to make noise using some sort of mechanical implement.  Until they get a car, that is.  Then - voila! - a musical instrument at the ready!  You don't buy it?  Fine.  Test the theory and disprove it.

I'll be waiting (in traffic).

Saturday 3 October 2009

Plumbing in the desert

Here's a recent phone conversation I had with the property maintenance manager for our villa:

ME:  Good morning, J.  This is (name deleted to protect my anonymity) at the (villa location deleted to protect my physical well-being).  I have a question for you.

J:  Ok Ok no problem

ME:  I bought new mixer tap for kitchen sink.  Do you have person who can take out old mixer tap and put new one? (notice the lack of articles -- this is what my speech has degraded to in the past month and a half)

J:  Mixer tap not working?

ME:  No, mixer tap working fine.  But mixer tap old and dirty and I don't like it.

J:  Bank not pay for new mixer tap if old mixer tap working.

ME:  That is ok.  I don't want bank to pay for new mixer tap.  I HAVE new mixer tap.  I need workman to install new mixer tap because I don't have plumbing tools.  And when I leave villa, I will get workman to take away new mixer tap and put old dirty one back (translation:  Don't f&^* with me.)

J:  Ok Ok no problem.  You want new mixer tap?  We go purchase new mixer tap and you pay.

ME:  NO.  I ALREADY PURCHASE NEW MIXER TAP.  I need workman to take away old mixer tap and put new one in.

J:  You need to purchase new mixer tap.  Bank not paying.

ME:  OK, J, listen carefully.  Yesterday I go store and purchase new mixer tap.  New mixer tap here in villa.  In box.  (I shake box to produce audible proof of presence of new mixer tap.)

J:  Oh you have new mixer tap?

ME:  YES!!!!!!!

J:  Ok Ok no problem

ME:  But I need someone to INSTALL it (by this time I could have replaced every tap in the bloody villa).

J:  Ok Ok I send someone over to fix.

ME:  When?

J:  Ok Ok when you at villa?

ME:  This afternoon.

J:  Workman coming four o'clock.

ME:  Very good.  I will be here at four o'clock.

J:  Workman coming four, maybe five o'clock.

ME:  Ok, thank you.

Welcome to my life.