Tag Archives: Abu Dhabi

Reckless Parenting in Arabia

Young children are often left alone at home

Young children are often left alone at home


“Parenting classes should be mandatory, whether you are adopting or not, and would include an evaluation of your current physical, mental and financial state as well as how ready you are to take on the rigors of parenthood. Our children are our most precious natural resource, and there is absolutely no other way to parent but to put them first.” – Dale Archer

Parents living in the United Arab Emirates will nod their heads in agreement after reading this piece. Some might be surprised while others simply won’t care. If you’re out of the country or the region you might be shaking your head by the end.

If you think seeing children hanging out of moving vehicles, jumping around in the back seat with no seatbelt on and sitting on the driver’s lap in a fast car is reckless, that’s nothing compared to what I’m about to tell you.

Working in the events industry in the Middle East, I have come across parents from all walks of life. There are those tearing their hair out desperately look for a lost child, and once she’s found, embrace her with love and care. And then there are those who drop off five and six year olds alone at an arena with not a care in the world. Others won’t realize their child is missing until we announce that he has been in our care for 20 minutes and we need his parents to come and claim him.

In one situation, I was confronted with a disturbing parental decision. I had invited my daughter’s eight-year-old school friend and her mother to attend a family event. On this particular day, the arena was filled to capacity, 3500 people. While doing my regular rounds to see whether my guests had any problems, I came across my daughter’s friend.

It's not uncommon to see children in movie theaters without adult supervision

It’s not uncommon to see children in movie theaters without adult supervision

“Where’s your mum?” I asked. “She’s left,” the quietly spoken girl responded. Beside her was another little girl, her friend. I looked out into the distance and saw her mother and another woman leaving the arena, heading down the stairs and out the door. A million and one thoughts and profanities went through my head. What on earth was she thinking?

I dashed past several people. “Excuse me! Excuse me!’ I said, as I ran towards the woman. Still trying to catch my breath, I put my hand on her shoulder. “Hi, how are you?” I asked casually. “I’m glad you could make it.” She introduced me to her friend, another Lebanese mother.

“Where’s your daughter?” I asked.

“She’s sitting down with her friend,” she responded. And then the tales began.

“Aren’t you staying?” I asked.

“No, we’re going to have a cup of coffee,” she said casually, as though it were normal to leave two eight-year-old girls alone at a large event.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “Unfortunately the rules don’t allow you to leave your children unattended at these events.”

“But we do it all the time when we go to the movies,” she continued. “They’re old enough and mature enough to be on their own.” Wow, I thought. Was she serious?

Sadly, many poor parenting decisions end in tragedy. And we’ve seen many here in the UAE and worldwide.

The UAE is still coming to terms with the news of a five-year-old girl who fell to her death from a high-rise building after she was left alone sleeping as her mother partied with her boyfriend on New Year’s Eve.

I’ve lost count of the stories over the years of children falling from windows of apartment buildings after they were left unattended.

Just last week I dashed across a busy carpark and scooped up a two-year-old boy who had wandered out of a nearby park. One car had swerved and missed the child, and it looked like he was on a collision course with another 4WD.

Fortunately the child was wearing an identification bracelet. I called the father, who then contacted his wife inside the park. It took the mother 25 minutes to come to the main gate to collect her son. Not even a hug for the little boy or a thank you!

As parents, we can’t take any risks with our children’s lives. They’re irreplaceable!

Education is a right and not a privilege

Finding the right school is not always easy

Finding the right school is not always easy

Serene crawled into my bed and placed her head on my shoulder. I could feel the dampness on her cheek. She was crying.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, as she placed her arms tighter around my neck. “I don’t want to go to school,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to do the Arabic exam.” I reached over to get my phone to check the time. It was 6am. My daughter had woken up stressed and anxious.
It had been an extremely stressful week in our house; Serene and Janah, my eldest, had spent most of their afternoon studying intensely for their end-of-term exams.
From the beginning of the 2014–2015 school year, there was a sudden shift in the way they were being taught. Within the first two weeks of returning to school, the students, from K-12 sat standardisation tests for their core subjects. Parents were not notified. Everyday my three girls came home recounting how they’d missed another lesson due to the testing.
Parents were puzzled. What had brought on this sudden change and why weren’t parents informed?
Did it have something to do with the school’s poor ranking from the Knowledge and Human Development Authority (KHDA), Dubai’s governing body for private education? The school scored ‘Acceptable’.
But was increasing homework and class quizzes the answer? As a parent I became very concerned. My children were forced to give up afterschool extracurricular activities just to keep up with the demand.
Before you think I’m another whinging mother, I’m not! My daughters are not 16 and 17 years old, studying for their final year of school. They’re 6, 7 and 9 years old.

These are their foundation years, a critical period in which they either begin to love school and learning or hate it.

I am trying desperately to avoid the latter.

Without support teachers can't do their job.

Without support teachers can’t do their job.

When I first moved to the United Arab Emirates (UAE), in 2008, my husband and I had a goal for our children. We wanted our daughters to learn Arabic and the best way to do it was to send them to a school where they could mix with native Arabic-speaking children. We were living in Arabia and we had a unique opportunity to teach them about Middle Eastern culture and learn the language. While my husband is fluent in Arabic, I speak the language but can’t read and write. We didn’t want a generation in our family growing up not knowing the language of their ancestors. While the girls have progressed with the support of the school and an Arabic tutor, we’re beginning to see that our children are missing out in other parts of their schooling.
Did we make the right decision in enrolling our children in a school where teachers taught the way my mother and father were taught as children in the Middle East? Students are spoon-fed information, expected to memorise it and then examined on the content. They have not been on a school outing in many years. Teachers are overworked and underpaid; class sizes are too large while the classrooms are too small. My daughter’s Year 3 class room is so small that she can barely wheel her school bag out from the back of the room.
I consulted many parents at the school hoping to find some comfort. They too had similar concerns about their child’s education. Many revealed they were home schooling as their child was not receiving the necessary attention in class.
As I child I recall having one teacher and then specialist teachers for music, arts, and sport. I know this is still the case in many international schools throughout the UAE; many even have a teacher’s aide. At the school my daughters attend, they see eight different teachers for 45 minutes per subject. With this in mind I took the next step to speak with the teachers who I felt would be honest about the school’s attitude to education.
The majority of teachers at the school are from Lebanon and Syria with a few Western and European teachers thrown into the mix. They’ve expressed their desire to see the teaching system changed, but their cries have fallen on deaf ears.
A Year 2 maths teacher told me that she would never send her child to a school where there were 30 students in each class. “I teach 150 students a day,” she said. “By the end of the day I am exhausted.”
The Arabic teacher echoed the maths teacher’s concern,

“You can’t blame the teachers when the school doesn’t know what direction it wants to go in,” she said.

Serene’s tears confirmed our decision to move the girls in the new school year. The pressure they were under at such a young age is unfair and unnecessary.

I enlisted the help of James Mullan, co-founder of WhichSchoolAdvisory.com, an independent education website ranking schools across the UAE. Since its establishment in 2013, the website has had over two million hits.
His advice is simple, “different parents will have different requirements of the school. Talk to parents to find out what is actually happening. What are the children getting from that education?”
What should I be looking for when researching a new school?
Mullan says parents should follow these simple criteria.
1. Fees: Is it affordable?
2. Reputation: Does it have a good reputation?
3. Academic results: Ask the school to provide you with their academic results. Be demanding.
4. Added value: Some schools will say, for instance, it’s not about academic results but the value they add. Not every child is academic but may show strengths in other areas such as music, sports and the arts.
More importantly, after narrowing down the school list, Mullan adds, “go and visit the school, but not on an Open Day. Visit it on a working day with the child and allow your child to decide. As long as the school has ticked all the boxes, let your child meet the teachers, see the children, sports and wait to see his or her reaction.”

James Mullan

James Mullan

The UAE has evolved rapidly over the last decade with the development of the world’s tallest building, Burj Khalifa, Palm Jumeriah and gated communities. Mullan says while you can magic infrastructure, you can’t magic education.

“Education needs nurturing, it takes care and time and that’s one of the things that everyone needs to be aware of including the people building schools, investing in schools, teachers, and parents. We are still living in an evolving experiment each day and you’re signing up for that in every sphere of your life.”

What about choosing the right curriculum?
According the Mullan, there are 17 curriculums on offer in the UAE, with the British curriculum favoured by one-third of private school.
“You’ve got to think about where you’ll be with your children in the coming years,” he says. “It’s not so much an issue in the early years in primary schools, but it is when you get to secondary schools. You’ve got to be thinking seriously about what you want to do. It’s a case-by-case situation.”

The cost of education in the UAE is astronomical and remains one of the most talked about issues in the country.

Unlike a decade ago when expats were presented with lavish salaries, which included additional education funding, today it’s part of the overall package. Expats on low incomes have no choice but to send their children to private schools; public schooling in the UAE is only available to UAE nationals.
Tuition for the 2014–2015 school year at Gems World Academy (GWA) for a six-year-old is AED71,092 (USD19,477) and over AED98,000 (USD26,800) for a Year 12 student, says the school’s website.
If a parent were to send their child to GWA, starting from KG2 through to Year 12,

tuition would cost a whopping AED1,060,160 (USD290,454) over the course of their schooling.

Gems World Academy Dubai

Gems World Academy Dubai

According to WhichSchoolAdvisory.com, in 2013–2014 school year, Gems World Academy, established in 2008, attained a ‘Good’ rating from the KHDA, the Dubai Government regulator entrusted with overseeing the growth and development of private education in the emirate.
Compare this to one of the best-known independent schools in New South Wales, Australia. Established in 1831, The King’s School Parramatta, has seen Crown Princes, leaders of political parties, authors, actors, leaders in law, medicine and in a wide range of other professionals educated at the boys’ school.
The tuition cost to educate a six-year-old boy at The Kings School is AED 48,482 (USD13,282). From K-12, it would cost his parents AED 88,624 (USD241,540).
GWA is situated on 42,715 sq. metres of land and boasts state-of-the-art facilities, Planetarium, 400m athletic track, 6-lane 50m pool, tennis courts, gymnasium, fitness centre, climbing wall, 620-seater auditorium, symphony centre, and peace garden.
This brings me to my next question: are parents paying for education or facilities at a UAE school?
“You should be paying for both education and facilities,” says Mullan. “Certain schools have fantastic facilities, but you often wonder how often they’re used.”
He adds: “One of the challenges that the UAE is going to face is that there is going to be a massive crunch on teaching talent over the next ten years. There is a huge development in the number of international schools around the world, so what that means is that top teachers will be able to choose where they want to go. In other words, schools here have to make it attractive for them to come here in terms of salary, conditions, but also in terms of Continued Professional Development (CPD), which is an area, when you speak to teachers here, that is missing. What you tend to get in schools here is what we call the backpacker teachers, young teachers who are out of college, stay for two years and then move on. Then you get mums who have been teachers, on their husband’s visa, who are then employed on a local contract. They receive a chunk of money and no additional benefits, and that saves the school a considerable amount of money, but going forward, is that going to be good enough?”
What about waiting lists?
Before we wrap up, Mullan has some promising news for parents. More than 20,000 places became available in September this year, as new schools opened across Dubai. Believe it or not, we could even see a drop in school fees.
So where does this leave me and my children?
I’ve taken James Mullan’s advice and spoken to parents from many different schools. I’ve lodged some applications and now it’s time to sit and wait. I’m just hoping we make the right decision.

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Do you have a similar experience? Leave your comments below.

Maid in Arabia

 

“I had a dream last night that all your family was dead,” said Cherry. My jaw dropped; I tried not to show too much emotion, but deep inside, I was petrified.

I looked at my three little girls who were ages five, four and two at the time.

How on earth could I leave them in this woman’s care?

I was now living in Dubai and working on the 2010 FIFA Club World Cup. I was schedule to travel to Abu Dhabi to prepare for the opening match. I rang my colleague and told him I was ill and could not attend.

I called Tarek, who was in Saudi Arabia, and told him what Cherry had said. “Get her out of the house,” he responded. He was right. We had heard far too many frightening stories over the few years we had lived in the United Arab Emirates, such as children being abused by maids as a form of revenge against their employer. I wasn’t going to risk it.

Cherry lasted a month. After she left, I vowed never to hire another live-in nanny.I had employed Cherry through an agency in Dubai. She seemed lovely during the interview—very energetic and excited about her first job in the UAE. Cherry was from the Philippines, in her early 20s, and had just completed a nursing degree in her home country. It’s what had attracted me to her in the first place. We talked more on the way home about how she was in the country to save enough money to continue her studies. Her dream was to become a midwife.

Throughout the drive, she had appeared to be normal until I needed to reach out to stop her from falling out of the car. I had asked her whether she could shut her window, as I wanted to turn on the air conditioning—she reached for the door handle and opened the door. Whether it was a complete misunderstanding or words lost in translation, I was alarmed. Cherry apologised, and the incident was forgotten.

On the way home, Cherry and I picked up the children from the nursery and school. Moments after we had arrived home, Serene came to me and told me she didn’t like Cherry. Serene was just four, but at such a young age, she had good intuition. For the first week, I sat back and observed Cherry’s behaviour with the children. She was playful and seemed to genuinely enjoy being around the girls. Janah and Alisar appeared to like her, but something continued to bother Serene. She was unsettled, and that bothered me.Cherry’s personality changed after her second week with us. She would start work late, and on many occasions, she was rude and verbally aggressive. Hygiene was a huge problem; she would never wash her face in the morning, and if she had a runny nose, she would just wipe it on her sleeve. On numerous occasions, I had to ask her to shower. I was repulsed. It was the third week into her stay when she awoke in the morning and proceeded to tell me about her dream. I couldn’t sleep that night. The next morning, I called the agency to explain the situation. I asked Cherry to pack her bags, gave her taxi fare and sent her back to the agency.

Cherry was my second live-in nanny. She had replaced Rose who had been with me for 18 months. I didn’t realise how good I had it with Rose until Cherry walked into our life.

Rose was also from the Philippines. She was a mother of three looking to improve her family’s lifestyle back home, build a house and pay for her children’s education. Apart from being extremely emotional, crying all the time, upset at the slightest criticism, she was great with the children and adored the girls. I’d hired Rose through the same agency I used to hire Cherry.

This was my first ever experience with employing a live-in housemaid. I’d given in to pressure. I had three children under the age of three, my husband was commuting to Saudi Arabia and I was waking up six times a night attending to the girls. I had reached the point where I could no longer function on my own. I needed a break. Even if it was 30 minutes alone at Café Macchiato, just some time to gather my thoughts, it was enough.I was completely against having a stranger move into my house. At first, it was just hiring a part-time helper a few days a week. Diane worked for a cleaning company during the day and was looking for some extra work in the afternoon. Tracey had recommended I give her a go. Di was sweet and loved playing with the children. Having her with me a few days a week was a relief. She made it easy to explore the idea of finding a permanent helper. “Madam,” she would call me. I never felt comfortable with it. Unlike many of my friends, I didn’t treat Di as a servant. She was a blessing in my life, and she gave me the break and peace of mind to leave my kids alone with her if needed. We used her a great deal for babysitting in the evening when Tarek and I wanted to see a movie or have dinner nearby.As time passed and Tarek’s work situation changed after the financial crisis (more on the impact of the crisis later), I had no choice but to begin the search for a permanent housemaid. It was unusual for me considering that I had grown up in a country where servants only worked for the rich and famous.

Stay Tuned for the next instalment of “Maid in Arabia.”
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Lifelong mates formed over an Arabian coffee

Arabian Coffee 1

When I arrived in the UAE in 2008, its population was around 6.7 million. Today, the World Bank estimates the Gulf nation’s population to be 9.2 million. In 2011, a study by a Kuwait-based diplomatic centre revealed that 84 per cent of the United Arab Emirates’ population were expats – at the time 8.5 million people were living in the country and over 7 million were foreigners.

You’d think these statistics would help ease the burden of making friends. Expats outnumbered the Emiratis, meeting people was easy but forming friendships was challenging. As I said in my previous post, everyone seemed to have their own circle of friends and many women weren’t interested in making new friends or welcoming new arrivals.

“When the girls start school, you’ll find friends,” one mother told me. Very comforting, considering my children were three, 18 months and I had a newborn. I remembered her words when Janah began attending the local Abu Dhabi Montessori Nursery. It’s there I met Anna and Octavia. Their sons attended the nursery with Janah during our first year in Abu Dhabi. Anna was a fellow Aussie from Melbourne, while Octavia was American.

Café Macchiato became a meeting point for friends and the place I’d go to have coffee with my new group of friends. It was here, in this little coffee shop tucked away in a small community shopping centre, that I met Tracey and Stan. There was something comforting about saying ‘hello’ to a complete stranger in the United Arab Emirates. I spent a lot of time in cafes back home in Sydney, but I’d never have thought to turn to a complete stranger and start a conversation.

Here in the UAE, it happened everywhere I went. Even in the bathrooms, while washing hands at the basin, conversations would begin and numbers would be exchanged. I imagine that it’s because all expats are in the same situation – everyone is trying to settle in, make friends and have as much of a normal life in an unfamiliar environment.

Being an Aussie I knew about Stan and Tracey’s popularity, and although I was a little star-struck in the beginning, as time passed our friendship grew. We’d have family outings; Tracey and I even co-hosted a radio sports show. When Janah had an allergic reaction and I had to rush her to the nearby medical centre, it was Tracey who dropped everything and raced to my house to watch Serene and Alisar. On numerous occasions, Stan even recommended I apply to work at CNN in Abu Dhabi.

Months after meeting Tracey and Stan, Suzie, a beautiful American woman, entered my life. Suzie had moved to Abu Dhabi with her husband and two daughters, Aaliyah and Thalia. Our friendship blossomed and when she and her family moved to Dubai we weren’t far behind. Today Suzie lives in Canada where she says making friends hasn’t been as easy as in Abu Dhabi and Dubai. Unlike the UAE, Canada is home to millions of Canadian residents and citizens, whilst the driving force behind the UAE is its expat populations. Although we live in a foreign country, we’re not made to feel like outcasts.

I had also met Jodie and her family at Macchiato – her daughters were the same age as Serene and Janah. The girls connected at the café, playing together while Jodie and I learned more about our Australian connection. Playdates for the children were just as important as the adult conversation for their mothers. It’s how we managed to stay sane in a city where there was little to do despite the rapid development.

They’ve all left now, but we continue to stay in touch on social media. I’ve made new friends since moving to Dubai but it’s these women who I met early on that continue to stay with me. We’ll always have the memories we shared in Abu Dhabi!

Enjoying their first Halloween in Dubai

Enjoying their first Halloween in Dubai

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Behind my Vogue Australia article

The June issue of Vogue Australia

The June issue of Vogue Australia

On set with Vogue Australia

On set with Vogue Australia

Seven years ago, I vowed never again to write about Australia’s Middle Eastern community. But recently I felt compelled to write again following a family tragedy. If I could help one family save their son from the underworld and raise awareness about the problems driving young boys into joining gangs, I will have achieved my objective.

I was excited to have my girls featured in the article.

I was excited to have my girls featured in the article.

I had spent more than a decade of my career engulfed in the community’s problems, including youth issues, crime and lack of leadership. However, during that decade I never alluded to my own family’s problems.

My brother was caught up in the underworld, joining notorious bikie gangs. He was jailed for three years for his role in a serious assault. In July last year my brother was gunned down outside his home – his past had finally caught up with him. Miraculously he survived the shooting and today he bears the scars of his choices.

I left Australia in 2008 for my own personal reasons. It wasn’t until I arrived in the United Arab Emirates that I stopped searching for my identity. I had found a place where East meets West, and where people of all nationalities live peacefully together and respect one another’s cultures and beliefs. This was something I had never felt back in Sydney.

Read more in June’s issue of Vogue Australia……

Some more behind the scenes images

Having fun with the girls

Having fun with the girls

My little beauties getting ready for their first magazine photo shoot.

My little beauties getting ready for their first magazine photo shoot.

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Friends in Arabia

I met Shaima and Shorouk years after I moved from Abu Dhabi to Dubai

I met Shaima and Shorouk years after I moved from Abu Dhabi to Dubai

I do apologies for not posting much sooner. Juggling three children and working on a popular international family entertainment brand here in the Middle East have really taken their toll on me and have left me with very little time to write. Janah and Serene have also started swim squad training, which is taking up four afternoons a week. Janah even competed in her first swimming competition.

I found myself gravitating towards the back of my local café; I could hear a familiar Australian accent over the Arabian music playing in the background. In the distance I could see a couple sitting at my regular table with their children; their accent reminded me of home. As I lifted the pram over the step, I looked over at the female and then turned and glanced at the male sitting opposite her. My jaw dropped.

“What are you doing here?” I uttered, as though I had known them my entire life.

They were not just any ordinary Australians – I had just taken my seat beside two iconic Australian television personalities who I had admired throughout my career as a journalist.

Over the few months that I had lived in Al Muroor, I had become a regular at Café Macchiato. Each morning, after dropping Janah off at nursery, not far from our home, I would push the ‘train’ – the double-pram – Serene sitting in the front while Alisar lay quietly in the back, to the small shopping centre opposite my apartment block.

For the first six months I found it difficult meeting people or going anywhere with three small children. My morning walk to the coffee shop was the highlight of my day. I was living in an area predominantly made up of Emiratis. Occasionally I would see expats but everyone seemed to be doing their own thing, living their life, with no interest in making new friends. I was okay with that, I was fairly comfortable in my own skin and had never relied heavily on friends in the past. But living away from family was different; in this part of the world your friends become your family. It was during the religious holidays when Tarek and I really began to feel our family’s absence. In Tarek’s situation, he was working and instantly forming friendships through his job but for me it was much harder.

Before we moved into our apartment in Al Muroor, I had attended a local mother’s group in Abu Dhabi. When I arrived at the British Club, I was surrounded by women who had been in the country for many years and had formed their clique – they were mainly British women who were regulars at the club. I thought many of them were pretentious, caring more about replacing chandeliers in their oversized water front villas in Al Raha than engaging in conversation with new arrivals.

Celebrating Janah's 3rd birthday in Abu Dhabi

Celebrating Janah’s 3rd birthday in Abu Dhabi

I stood around with my oversized tummy, playing and laughing with the girls. I wasn’t there to make friends, I told myself. I was there to give my daughters an opportunity to stretch their legs, run around in the large ballroom, which had been made into a makeshift playground. I attended the Abu Dhabi Mums group for several weeks until I gave birth to Alisar. There were the occasional conversations, which usually started with ‘How long have you been here? Where are you from? Are they twins?’ (Referring to Janah and Serene). But within minutes the exchange would end when we looked over and realised our children had taken advantage of their mums being distracted; rushing to the confectionary stand and often turning on the water dispenser, flooding part of the room.

I'll never forget the first time I met Lisa

I’ll never forget the first time I met Lisa

The women who were interested in making new friends were, like myself, new arrivals who had children approximately the same age. I remember running around after Serene, when I looked over at a young blonde woman talking to her son – he was roughly the same age as Serene. We laughed together.

Lisa and I were drawn to one another – the Australian accent was impossible to miss and there was the simple fact that neither of our children looked like us. Our kids had Arabian traits while we were both blonde and fair. Although I have a Middle Eastern background, my children had inherited their father’s dark features. Lisa, who grew up in an Italian household, in Sydney, was married to a young man from a Lebanese background, and her son Isaac had inherited Joe’s skin tone and hair colour.

Our friendship blossomed away from Abu Dhabi Mums. We attended Isaac’s birthday party at their home and we would often have them around to our house for lunch. Joe and Tarek even offered to babysit the kids together while Lisa and I attended the first Capitala Tennis Championship in Abu Dhabi and later the George Michael and Alicia Keys concerts.

I attended my first concert in Abu Dhabi with Lisa

I attended my first concert in Abu Dhabi with Lisa

I was devastated when Lisa and Joe left Abu Dhabi, shortly after she gave birth to her second son – they were unexpected victims of the global financial crisis (more on that later). Lisa and I stayed in touch over the years through Facebook, where I’ve watched her and her family settle back into life in Sydney.

Looking back now, every friend I had made during my first year in Abu Dhabi has now left the United Arab Emirates.

Coming up (Lifelong friends formed over Arabian coffee)

Lifelong friends in Arabia

Lifelong friends in Arabia

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Battling the Arabian heat

Cooling off in Arabia

Cooling off in Arabia

As I write this piece, I’m sitting poolside watching Janah – my eldest – taking part in another intense swim-squad training session. Recalling the Abu Dhabi heat when I arrived, I’m now tempted to jump in and cool off alongside her . . .


“Call me when the driver arrives,” I told Tarek, grabbing my little girls by the hand and walking back in through the doors of Abu Dhabi International Airport.

I could hear Tarek laughing, the sweat dripping from his forehead and his T-shirt soaking wet.

“I warned you about the heat,” he replied, standing on the sidewalk and flagging the company driver who was parked some distance away.
“You warned me?” I snapped as I continued to walk back inside.

What he should’ve told me was to spend the day at the spa, shifting back and forth between the steam room and sauna, catching the cool blast from the air-conditioned room separating them.

No one can really prepare you for the sizzling summer temperatures when you move to the desert. In Arabia we spend three to four months of the year indoors. Spring is usually from March to May but temperatures really begin to soar in early May, jumping from 33°C and often reaching highs of 47°C – it’s at this time you see families rushing indoors, back into air-conditioned rooms, desperately looking to find new ways to entertain their children. Swimming in the sea is not an option as the water temperature also begins to rise.

Desert sun....hot summer days force families indoors between May - September in Arabia

Desert sun….hot summer days force families indoors between May – September in Arabia

We begin to see the weather cooling slightly in late September as we head into autumn. From October to December the temperatures drop significantly; it is a little cooler in the winter months but there is no blizzard. However we often have to deal with the harsh sandstorms; breathing dust while the sandy grains exfoliate our skin. For my friends who live in a villa, the most common complaint is the amount of sand blowing under their doors and through their window seals into their homes. I don’t see any reason why they complain; they all have maids to clean up the mess.

Looking back on my first summer in Abu Dhabi, I think I handled it well considering I was 32 weeks pregnant with two small children demanding to be picked up and carried.

There were times when I opened the fridge, reaching for a bottle of chilled water or lemonade. Without pouring it into a glass, I placed the bottle to my mouth and just guzzled it, desperately trying to quench my thirst. “I can survive this,” I told myself. “Get a grip.”

In Sydney, we often experienced heat waves – air-conditioners stopped working and as a child I remember my father turning on the garden hose so we could play with the water. At lunch mum often placed a large bowl of watermelon on the table and told us to cool down.

A few weeks after I arrived in Abu Dhabi, I had a sudden burst of energy and the need to go outside and take the girls for a walk. I could no longer sit, cooped-up in a small hotel apartment with two little girls bouncing off the walls.

I bundled them into a stroller, we put on sunscreen and hats, and I began pushing them around the city. Men and women stared, looking back at me as though I was mad. While everyone else was seeking shelter in air-conditioned apartments and offices, I was heavily pregnant and pushing two little girls around the city.

As I walked further and further into the city, I realised that Abu Dhabi streets were not pedestrian friendly. Motorists refused to stop for anyone at a pedestrian crossing and the street curb was high, which meant I needed to use all of my strength to lift the pram off the road and onto the footpath. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea. Janah and Serene were fairly quiet during the walks, Serene would fall asleep while Janah sat still observing the people and the stores. When I felt tired, I’d seek refuge in an air-conditioned pharmacy or supermarket, catch my breath and continue on my way.

Back at the hotel, when I turned on the cold water tap and ran the water for the girls’ bath, the water was so warm – on most days I would pour cold bottled water into the bath to cool it down.

Serene (L) & Janah (R) during our earlier years in the UAE

Serene (L) & Janah (R) during our earlier years in the UAE

I’ve been in the United Arab Emirates now for six years – no one ever really gets used to living in these conditions but over time you learn to adapt. Those who can, leave for most of the summer while schools are on break and families that stay behind find themselves trawling malls, in play centres or cooling off in Ski Dubai.

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