"It is almost as if you were frantically constructing another world while the world that you live in dissolves beneath your feet, and that your survival depends on completing this construction at least one second before the old habitation collapses." Tennessee Williams.
The view from my new bedroom which changes everyday just a little bit.
All around me there is construction going on. I wake up in the early hours of the day to the construction beginning on the houses being built next door. They've just begun level three on three different houses on the same compound. In fact, our whole area, Khalifa City, will be the new site of the "new" Abu Dhabi. Our house, out in the middle of the desert, surrounded by sand and unfinished work sites is going to be prime real estate in the next ten years. but right now it seems like an oasis of solitude or a self-inflicted purgatory depending on the day and your mood. Apparently we are close to the ocean too, but in this heat, I'd need a camel to get to it. Or I could travel Emirati style, in my air conditioned, gas-guzzling SUV.
Our university is also under construction. The residences are almost completed, but apparently are reserved for the more higher-ups than us. Doesn't really matter right now anyway, as the university is also in the middle of a sea of dirty grey sand, on the side of the road leading out to the airport, no closer to the city centre than we are. Cranes decorate the skyline as the skeletons of new buildings grow taller and more opaque each day.
The female parking lot with the construction of the new residences in the background.
Inside the school, we work inside a gerbil maze of hallways, and to make matters worse, the whole university building is split lengthwise, into a woman's side and a men's side, and both sides are mirror images of each other. Once you are used to the architectural layout, it's not so bad. But its maddening when after climbing three flights of stairs you find the door at the top locked. Or the door at the end of the hallway locked. Or the hallway you thought you just came out of is now a broom closet and you got turned around.
Having my computer cubicle on the female side of the ground floor, I teach men in the men's side on the first floor. Of course there are no bathrooms on the men's side for me, so if I need to go its a full trek through hallways with hopefully unlocked doors on the other side. The main office for our programme is one more floor up in a tangle of hallways which is so architecturally convoluted I just can't get my head around it at all. One indication that a hallway may be open is that usually there is a guard on each end to make sure the men don't go to the women's side. I provide entertainment for the female guard since after a full week of my new schedule I still get lost going from the men's to the women's side. No matter how often she tells me, I usually end up somewhere I don't want to be, and now she just laughs and watches where I try to go. I am getting better at it though! But to be honest, I kind of like the smile and the laughter. Its a nice part of my day.
Every morning, as we get dropped off at the university, the three teachers in my villa, A tall blonde Canadian, a round glam-looking black Londonite in her sparkly D&G sunglasses, and me, the short one with the hair slapped in a pony tail and a coffee cup in hand, make our way into the university, The workers stop, lean on their shovels and watch us walk by. This morning I leaned over to Ms. Glam, and asked her, "What do you think that guy is thinking over there?" "She screwed up her eyes and said "I bet he's thinking, how can I poach one of those girls? Make her my lover? How can I get away with it?" I'll miss Ms. Glam, the best friend I have here at the moment, when she returns to London most likely for good next week.
During the day I can see these workers from my air-conditioned classroom. It's so cold in here I permanently wear a black cardigan over whatever I'm wearing. I watch them toiling out in the heat, moving shovels of sand from one place to another. They must be dying out there. They are the new camels of the Emirates, toiling in the heat, building the future for the Emiratis who also watch from their air conditioned offices. They do the work no one wants to do for low wages. But back in their own countries, in India, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, they are constructing lives of their own, sacrificing time with their families, their health, their control of their lives in this self-imposed sentence for a dream that one day this hard work will pay off. Maybe their dream is house. A good education for their children. A hope the health care they are providing for their sick loved one will mean they are still there when they return home from this life of work in the heat. Maybe that's all they are thinking about as they lean on their shovels, taking a moment from back breaking labour to watch the weird- looking people arrive at work. We all have our own stories for being here.
The front yard. The girl's side has grass. Kind of.
My day is also quite constructed. I adhere to a strict schedule I did not create myself. I'm up at 6 am. I need to be in the kitchen by 7:15 at the latest or I'll have to go without breakfast. At 7:30 sharp, the minivan arrives and Salaam, our young Indian driver from Hyderabad takes us to work along freshly constructed highways. I have until 8:30 to prepare my classes, fix the photocopier, chase supplies and resources around, plan a class that is going to hold the attention of 28 Emirati men for the next five hours. Use our time as constructively. At one thirty, I eat lunch at the Indian food restaurant. I eat what I can and pack the other half away to eat for lunch tomorrow. Then I chat with other teachers and do some prep work for the next day. At 3:30, I step out of the air conditioning and the first wave of heat feels wonderful. I often sit out on the steps of the university on the Men's side and wait for Salaam, loving the warm dry air which will most likely increase my wrinkles but feels so healthy compared to the artificially constructed coolness inside.
The rooftop of air conditioners. I'm not sure which one is mine, except I know being a heat lover mine is not as overworked as the others.
I come home, I take a short nap. But not too long or my schedule of sleep will be disturbed. I get into my yoga clothes, do yoga, chat with the roommates, and then draw or read, mark homework. Or sit in my desk chair fretting about the future. I usually eat cheese, fruit and crackers for dinner because its the easiest thing to grab and I'm tired. And then I go to sleep. And I wake up to do it all over again five days a week. On Fridays, the driver is off, so I stay at home and try to catch up of something to do with my personal development. Saturday, I go to the mall, do my cheese fruit and cracker shopping, and sometimes a massage. One needs to indulge once in a while!
Last night, I admit, I started to crack. The Abu Dhabi glaze is starting to settle in. Home alone, it was technically our Friday night (Thursday night in these parts because we get Friday and Saturday off in this part of the Muslim world) and all I really wanted to do was go wander somewhere. Explore somewhere new. go have a coffee and watch people I didn't have to teach, work or live with. Which I could have done, had I taken the driver in, but had no way back out. Feeling sorry for myself, I started posting notes on the Internet looking for a roommate in the city. I need a creative solution to this problem and I'm working on it.
Our Villas: Boys on the left, girls on the right. And ne'er the two shall mingle.
I spent my night with the maid in our villa. We made a weird dinner of couscous and veggie stir fry, and went for a walk through the construction sites of Khalifa City A, checking out the latest forms that have sprung up over the past week. Some constructions look like cookie cutter boxes, others like Arabian castles sweeping out of the sand, most likely concealing lapis lazuli swimming pools that made me salivate at the thought of spending an afternoon poolside. "See all this?" Susan waves her arm over an entire neighbourhood of massive houses almost completed, their gardens just being planted now. "None of it existed when we moved in. None of this was here in February!"
The backyard. Barbeque, anyone?
As we walked in the dark, avoiding the giant SUVs and luxury cars racing by, Susan told me about her dreams. With the scant money she makes here, she has managed to build herself a house at the edge of her family's property and now she is saving up to stock a small store on the side of it. Soon she'll have her money and she will head back to the Philippines and live the life she has been preparing for over the past ten years. Susan's life is much like the houses that surround us- half built but almost complete- built with a strong foundation.
My little haven.
And what stage is my metaphoric house in? I'm not quite sure. Yes, the living arrangements are driving me mad. But I can solve this problem with a little time. And in my solitude, I can deconstruct the lives I have been living and like Susan, become the architect of my new plan. I do miss the freedoms of Shanghai and the fun life that went with it, but that is not the right reason to go back to Asia. The truth is, in Shanghai life was just that little bit comfortable that you could coast along in it for kilometres without much thought.
Here in Khalifa City A, I have been doing art to decorate the white walls. I've been reading. I've been practicing yoga, and I've been alone in my thoughts. Building my foundation one thought at a time. I've never been so focused on finding a big life change ever before. Discomfort is often the catalyst for change, and strangely enough, I think when I squeeze through this time in my life I'm going to shoot through the other side- in a completely new direction.