Call me Habibti

The UAE locals do not exactly invite friendship from expats like me. And though we live in the same neighborhoods, shop in the same stores and eat in the same restaurants, only a very few of us Westerners have ever crossed the threshold of an Emirati house. Those of us lucky enough to teach the nation's college women, do get invited to big events such as the lavish bling-ish weddings and engagement parties so cherished among them - but these are Ladies Only events hosted at the country's famous hotel ballrooms or ladies cultural centers, and even once you've been to a few, you continue to feel like an outsider.

And so we carry on here, socializing amongst the other foreigners, Arabs and Westerners alike, being seemingly ignored by the locals. The most typical interaction many people have with Emiratis happens when we go to pay our electric bills or renew our Residence Visas, as those government posts are the jobs held by the locals who work. And when we do go about these necessary errands, the best way to describe the attitude towards us is aloof, perhaps cold, and sometimes utterly word-less. It is part of the culture we say, and in my opinion, it's to be expected in a place where we, the tank-top wearing foul-mouthed foreigners have moved in, set up our pork-eating households, and demanded CNN and Disney from their Satellite providers. Wouldn't you give us the cold shoulder?

But this week I turned a corner and was softened once again to the locals as I passed through the gate of the neighborhood park in my car. With my bike in the back seat, I unrolled the window and offered an Arabic hello 'Salamaleikum' to the veiled lady clerk. As if the veil had been lifted, I noted a change right away in her return 'Alaikum Salam'. She had recognized my car (one of the oldest to pass through their gate I am sure) or perhaps my Oakley-clad blonde head, and decided to offer me the discount advice, explaining the advantages of park membership and offering to help me with the forms. And all of this was finished with a veiled smile and the Arabic word for 'my dear'. She called me Habibti.

(For more on local weddings, check my April 11 post from last year)